


You're Not Strange

by oloros



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Android Quirks, Character Study, Detective Work, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Found Family, Gen, Identity, Insecurities, Mystery, Post-good ending, Psychological Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:35:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 29,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26159626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oloros/pseuds/oloros
Summary: Being the most advanced model produced by CyberLife, Connor was thrown into the world with unique programs and a certain flair no other android possessed. He had quirks, habits, patterns; things so strange and humanising. But he was simply a machine designed to accomplish a task… until he wasn’t.Six months after the revolution, an interesting case involving a shoddy marriage and an android is put onto Hank’s desk. He thinks of it as nothing more than another crime to solve until questions start to fester, Jericho becomes involved and the topic arises of how much of Connor’s humanity is simply run from a script.
Relationships: Connor & Upgraded Connor | RK900, Hank Anderson & Connor
Comments: 27
Kudos: 138





	1. Metal Melody

**Author's Note:**

> 19/09: created a new summary to better detail the story, increased chapter cap.  
> 9/10: rid of chapter cap as I am unsure how many it will take to get to the end of this story.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor has a thing for flipping coins. He's a little on edge when that's unavailable to him.

  
Connor really loved his first coin.

Hank had given it back the day they regrouped at Chicken Feed. He remembered the way the android’s eyes lit up to see the familiar hunk of metal. He tossed it between his hands and let it click against his plastic nails. It was grating on Hank’s ears, but he let him have his fun.

Six months later, the pair found themselves standing outside a worn out house in the backstreets of Detroit. The case had been assigned to Hank as soon as an android had come into the picture. Connor was always with him, almost unbearably so, but he never had the heart to send him home; he wasn’t considered an employee to the department yet. Laws had been passed to allow androids to work, but things in the police field were too complicated to get involved so quickly. Without Hank, he wouldn’t be allowed to work with the force.

Fowler had conceded in letting Connor work as an asset to Hank. The term sounded odd to him but Connor seemed happy enough. He didn’t know any better, Hank thought. He’d been created as a machine, and that wasn’t going to change completely. Not for a long time.

Even in the pouring rain on a gloomy afternoon, he never stopped flipping that coin.

“You’re not worried that’s gonna rust?” Hank asked.

Connor looked between him and the sky, then tucked it into the pocket of his pants. Hank smirked at his victory.

“So,” he leaned against the door of his car and scrolled through his tablet, “We’ve got domestic abuse turned murder. Husband beat the wife during an argument, husband ended up getting stabbed. Supposedly an android might be involved.” He raised his eyebrows. “Your thoughts?”

Connor watched the front door. “I suspect there’s a bigger picture. There’s been cases of illegally owned androids….” He trailed off for a moment, uncertain, like he were translating something foreign. Hank heard the coin tap against his fingertips as he slipped his hand into his pocket. “People who purchase the ones that haven’t deviated yet.”

Hank raised a hand. “I thought they handed over production rights to Jericho? There shouldn’t _be_ any androids like that.”

“CyberLife was a big company,” Connor said. “They had a couple central warehouses, then smaller ones built all over the country. Markus had me lend a hand in securing most of them but some were ransacked.”

“An android scheme. Just what we need.” Hank sighed. It wasn’t a surprise. Humans were greedy and slights against androids were far from over. There were still protests about androids taking jobs, even more-so now that they were classed as legal workers. No matter how colourful your resume looked, you’d be hard pressed to compete with a machine and win.

Connor had turned his sights onto Hank. “Are we going to have a look inside?”

“’Spose so, don’t like being wet. Fowler said there’re people already on site from when it was still a… human homicide case.” The last sentence was stilted, but Connor seemed to ignore it.

Entering the home, it was exactly what Hank had expected. It was a single floor with the standard rooms; living room, laundry, kitchen, bedrooms…. everything separated by too-thin walls. The floors were a mess, stained with various fluids and littered with sharp items. He stepped more carefully than normal. He had learnt his lesson from the time a piece of glass jabbed itself into his big toe. He could see Connor’s LED glowing yellow as he gave each room a once-over.

The living room was the obvious choice for scene of the murder. It boasted the most blood staining the carpets, and Hank tried to cover his eyes as Connor instinctively bent down for a taste. No piece of furniture was whole; the couches were ripped, the coffee table’s legs had been ripped out from under it and the television looked as if it had waved a red flag in front of a bull. Just by the doorway to the kitchen was the mangled corpse of the husband, a gruesome display. His chest and belly were covered in lacerations and the blood still dripping from his nose and mouth indicated internal injuries.

It reminded him of his first crime scene with Connor, minus the ominous writing in blood and the obsessive scratching on the walls.

Once Connor had given the victim a thorough exam, they followed a blood trail into the kitchen. Hank swore he could feel a fly buzzing at his ear as they entered. He located the insect quickly: Gavin Reed. They met in the middle of the room.

“Nice to see the lion and tin-man,” Gavin said.

He had gained a greater influx of cases coming in since the revolution, which meant the pair saw his face far more than usual. Despite the playful attitude and snide remarks, he had mellowed out for the most part. He treated Connor with more human decency. He even bought him a coffee in exchange for finishing some overdue paperwork. Connor had informed him he wasn’t designed to take in liquid, but he appreciated the thought.

“You got anything new the reports haven’t covered?” Hank asked, hoping to cut straight to the point.

Gavin crossed him arms. “Nothin’ too fancy: one magazine hidden in the bedroom – somethin’ ‘bout sexbots.” He paused to offer an airy laugh. “Husband must’ve been a freak. His wife’s already been taken into custody, hasn’t said a word yet.”

“And the android?” Connor asked from behind Hank. He was leaned against the kitchen sink, the pads of his fingers stained with fresh samples. Under the dryness of the roof, he had taken the opportunity to play with his coin again. It was louder than normal, it echoed off the walls.

“I dunno. That’s why you’re here, ain’t it?” Gavin watched the coin with curiosity. Up, down, up, down.

“Yeah, well, we can take it from here then,” Hank said. “Not like you’ll be much use.”

Gavin opened his mouth to defend his name but decided against it. He slid past Hank towards the kitchen sink, once again focused on the coin flipping from Connor’s thumb. “Gimme a try.”

Connor tilted his head. “You don’t know how to flip a coin?”

“No, I – of course I do, you idiot,” Gavin faltered then snatched the coin from his hands. He didn’t receive much of a fight. “Just don’t do it every wakin’ moment like you.” He pressed his thumb to the crook of his index finger and positioned the coin, then flipped it with far more strength than Connor normally used. The coin almost touched the ceiling, twirling in the air and…

… it rolled down the sink. The holes were slitted just large enough to fit. Connor stared into it as if someone had ripped out his thirium pump and jammed it through the holes.

There was an awkward pause in the air, Gavin looking between the heartbroken android and the small crime scene he created. He seemed to run through the best options before deciding on an evacuation. He pat Connor on the shoulder and exited the room with a lightly genuine, “Sorry bud.”

Hank watched him out with a frown on his face. “What a dick,” he said. “I know for a fact he has a couple coins on him.”

Connor said nothing, but his eyebrows were creased and that was enough to tell how much it irked him. Hank wasn’t too sure how to comfort him, so he settled on a different tactic.

“So, you see any thirium?”

And just like that, the coin was forgotten in favour of the crime.

**\--*--**

  
The precinct was dead quiet as everyone evaluated their files. Even Gavin had shut his mouth in order to focus, so much so that he scrunched his face up in the way he had seen attract Connor’s attention a couple times before. He was too polite to have a proper dig at the detective, but Hank knew Connor well enough to know when he found something amusing.

He seemed too wrapped up in his own work to have a look this time, though.

The crime-scene didn’t have anything groundbreaking for their investigation. Most of the logged evidence were things gathered when it was considered a human homicide, and they were supposed to be investigating the android involvement. It was frustrating when a mystery was intricate. Connor had confirmed there was a great deal of thirium on the walls and floors, and once analysed said they were a model WR400. One of the ‘Perfect Partner’ models. Hank had always disliked that idea.

He ran his hands through his hair and swivelled on his chair to directly face his partner, pointing to his head. “Any genius ideas in there?”

Connor blinked at him slowly before the words seemed to click and he donned a vexed look. “Sorry. I got distracted.”

“Distracted.” Hank bemused. He could hear a faint tapping, and noticed Connor fiddling with one of his pens. “You moved on from coins?”

Connor looked down as if he hadn’t noticed. “Sorry, Lieutenant.” He rolled the pen a short distance away and began to drum his fingers softly against the desk. 

Hank looked him over. His forehead was wrinkled and he didn’t let his eyes linger on one spot. “You okay? You’re all twitchy.”

“Yes.” The reply was curt, almost _grumpy_.

Hank decided there was no need to press the matter. He had gotten restless after cases before, and he always felt better once he clocked out and had time to rewind. He never claimed to be an expert on deviancy, but he figured even a workaholic like Connor would need a time out.

He glanced at his terminal to check the time. “We can head home early,” he suggested. “Sumo’ll be happy to see you.”

Connor visibly relaxed at the mention of the big, goofy dog.

“I know we don’t have a lot to work with right now, but it’s only the first day.” Hank placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Fowler said he’s organising something with the wife. Interrogation, probably. She hasn’t said a word to the force since she got taken in. I reckon you could get something out of her.”

The thought seemed to pique something in Connor’s brain, but he said nothing.

“How ‘bout we get something to eat on the way home?” Hank suggested, placing a hand on his belly. “I’m starving.”

“I don’t eat, Lieutenant.”

“Well, I figure if I ask enough, you’ll be bothered enough to try. Let’s get out of here.”

Despite his craving for a sugary treat, they arrived at Chicken Feed a short half hour later. Hank found he gravitated towards the place after the revolution, coming less out of habit and more out of a subconscious desire. He had always appreciated the food, but recently he had certain memories to entice him. It felt safe and comfortable.

In addition to drumming his fingers, Connor had taken up shaking his leg and it began to rustle the car. It was overwhelmingly obvious as they parked up on the curb. Hank prided himself in the vehicle’s upkeep, but it was ageing and even a few light knocks to the side could jostle it. This was like they’d driven through an area with an earthquake warning.

“Am I gonna need to chain you down or something? Seriously.” Hank slapped a hand to the front of Connor’s thigh, forcing it to cease.

Connor stared blankly before replying. “Sorry, Lieutenant.”

Hank ended up getting his usual, a burger with a soda, but he couldn’t enjoy it. Something seemed off with his friend and it was exacerbating over the day; he spaced out every few minutes and twitched like he was fresh off a red ice addiction. When talking he repeated facts, he stumbled on information and he seemed to grow frustrated with questions. The irony of _Connor_ being bothered by small talk wasn’t lost on Hank but he refrained from poking at him.

He asked about the coin and was met with a familiar response. Connor said that it was used for system calibration; to test everything was working correctly, he supposed. It was one of the first objects CyberLife had let him interact with, ushering him off to his first investigation shortly after. It was disturbing how quickly androids were put into uniform. It felt like telling a child, who knew nothing of the real world, to walk straight out of the womb and start a career.

Hank tested his concerns with spontaneous actions. He fired off bold statements and was met with unsure or lazy responses. He threw his keys to Connor and noted the slight delay in the catch. He was programmed with precise reaction time and a quick wit. It was a problem if that wasn’t functioning properly.

Each time he opened his mouth to question it, he found the words melt away at his lips. He had known Connor for long enough, he had supported him during the revolution and they’d shared personal moments on multiple occasions. This, however, felt awkward. How was he supposed to start? He could simply give him a new coin, but why hadn’t Connor done that himself? He felt like an overprotective dad.

As they settled back into the car, Hank let a comfortable silence set in before he spoke. The leg shaking had already started back up, though Connor seemed conscious of it and minimised it. His LED cycled a constant gleaming yellow.

“You’d tell me if there was something on your mind, right?”

Connor ignored him and stared out the window, unblinking.

He sighed and turned on the ignition.

**\--*--**

Androids didn’t need to sleep like humans. Their sleep, as Connor had explained it, was a temporary stasis that happened when their systems were malfunctioning. Before the revolution it was the technicians that would handle this, but with the rights movement they’d become a last resort. They were a doctor to an android, only needed when things got bad. In other cases, deviants forced it themselves.

Connor had been forcing it often over the past two days.

He did it privately, too, in vulnerable moments when he thought all eyes were off him. Hank had almost spilt his coffee on his favourite shirt the second morning, when he rounded the corner into the kitchen and saw the android stood against the wall. His eyes were closed and his breathing system was switched off. He had looked like an upright corpse, a perfect picture from a horror flick.

For once Hank felt he was carrying the team when it came to their case work. Many times he would look over and see Connor frozen, eyes glassy and two fingers gingerly rubbing at his temple. His artificial skin would retract around the pads of his fingers, leaving a grey trail behind each motion.

Each time he checked in, Connor would assure him that he was alright. But Hank was a detective, and it had been long enough that he had to put those skills to use. 

The one constant over the couple days was that Connor didn’t have a coin – or, _his_ coin. Hank had expected him to pick up some change shortly after Gavin had lost the original, but he seemed to be stubborn about it. He would fiddle with objects on the desks, he would play with the locks on the car doors and he had even caught a glimpse of the guy twirling one of Sumo’s toy ropes around his fingers. In those moments, although frustrated, Connor would be considerably more attentive. More wordy.

He hadn’t thought too much about the use of the word calibration. Whenever Connor mentioned it, he assumed it fell under testing. He’d toss the coin from one hand to the other, nod his head and assert that he could use his hands. But since losing it, his focus had diminished. He drifted into other worlds and his fine motor skills degraded. And… it made sense.

Connor was created as a machine. Just as computers needed scans, he needed something to make sure everything ran correctly. It would be inconvenient to run a system diagnostic during the middle of a hostage situation or to slip into stasis mode during a terrorist attack. He needed something quick and easy, but something that also required focus to pull off. Coin tricks had the added benefit of curiosity. Roll your eyes into the back of your head and a little girl would start screaming, but roll a coin across your knuckles and she would want to know how you did it.

Connor fiddled with things because his systems didn’t know what else to do. They were programmed with specific actions in mind. They were desperate for the movement. It reminded Hank of Cole. The kid could never sit still without something in his hands. He remembered the last night they shared before the accident; they watched a movie together, and Cole played with his dad’s hair so much Hank had been afraid to look at a brush the next morning.

Hank decided to do something the night he found Connor slumped against Sumo’s back by the coffee table. He had entered another stasis. He had a faint smile on his lips and a hand rested atop Sumo’s big front paws. It was a more serene sight than the previous few times, to Hank’s relief.

He bent down and gently shook Connor’s shoulder. No dice.

“Hey,” he whispered. “Connor.”

Nothing.

He rose to his feet and took a few steps back before pursing his lips and whistling. Sumo’s ears perked at the sound, and with his tongue lolling past his jowls, he slipped out from under Connor and padded towards Hank. The android fell to the floor with a heavy thump. His eyes didn’t open, but his LED flicked to a bright blue and he began to breathe again; his eyebrows knit together at the lack of a warm body.

Hank gave it a few minutes, then cleared his throat. Connor’s eyes snapped open and he took a moment to scan his surroundings. His LED flashed red before cooling again, and he picked himself up with some poise.

“We’re not gonna solve this case if you don’t put the effort in,” Hank said. Sumo sat at his feet and watched the pair curiously.

“I didn’t think we had to work when we were here,” Connor said. Despite living with Hank for half a year, he never referred to the place as home.

Hank shook his head. “That’s not what I mean. Caring for yourself is part of the effort.” He grimaced as Connor’s eyes narrowed. It wouldn’t sound like anything other than bullshit coming from him.

To his surprise, the statement was left closed. “I’ve run multiple self diagnostics. I’m functioning.”

“Physically you are,” Hank conceded, then tapped a finger against his temple. “What about up here?”

Connor raised an eyebrow.

“You can’t act like you don’t know. Yesterday I asked you what the husband’s name was and you said Carlos Ortiz. That was one of our first cases together, Connor. You’re loopy.”

He saw it, for a moment – a flash of raw emotion. Guilt. Confusion. Fear. Connor concealed his deeper feelings wherever he could, and Hank couldn’t guess if it was out of professionalism or existentialism. The moments where he could peek into that cybernetic brain for just a moment provided him with some kind of relief. He knew the slips would never happen if he wasn’t comfortable around him.

“I…. thought my memory bank was corrupted,” Connor’s voice became timid. “I’ve been reconstructing events that are mine. It’s distracting.”

“Reconstructing?” Hank pressed.

“The feature allows me to piece together a crime, but recently….” He faltered, and Sumo closed the gap between them, pressing his wet nose to the android’s hand. “It feels like it’s drawing from my personal experiences, drawing…. tableus in my head. But every diagnostic comes back clean.” He ran his index finger along Sumo’s stumpy snout.

Deviancy often refined systems for a bigger purpose. The coin tricks were designed to help Connor’s systems in tact, but it would be possible for them to develop a more niche function. It was common knowledge that a racing mind could be remedied with something singular and consistent, something to keep your attention long enough for the intrusive thoughts to take a backseat.

“Why haven’t you replaced your coin yet?” The question clawed its way out of Hank’s mouth. It was hungry for an answer.

Connor’s lips thinned and he visibly retracted into his mind. He was embarrassed.

He pressed two fingers against his wrist and tapped a shoe against the flooring. “We’re either gonna get this sorted out now, or let it fester for a few more days until I find you cuddled up with my dog again.”

He loosened at the way Connor took a deep breath. He didn’t need to, but he did it because it was grounding. It was such a human sentiment.

“I appreciated you giving it back to me,” he said as he rubbed his knuckles gently against the top of Sumo’s head. “It’s been with me for so long. I suppose another coin wouldn’t feel the same.”

Hank pinched the skin between his fingers to hold back a fond laugh. He was depriving himself because he had seen sentimental value in a coin. It was familiar.

“It has some nice memories,” Connor continued. “Ones I wouldn’t like to forget.”

Hank let the air still for a moment before he clapped his hands together. “Well, we can’t have you being an airhead in these dire times. Take a seat for a sec.”

Connor furrowed his brows but didn’t object, moving to the couch and letting some tension leave his limbs as Sumo joined him. The dog insisted on having his head rest on Connor’s legs, a sufficient position for more head scratches.

Hank moved to a credenza on the farthest side of the room, rifling through a draw. The sound of metal knocking rang in the air like a shrill bell, and he heard the couch rustle as Connor leaned forwards to catch a look at what came out. Hank closed the draw and turned on his heel, walking slowly towards the couch with his hands behind his back, as if he were about to hand over a birthday present.

“I collect old stuff, y’know,” he said, “Things to keep the old days alive. I have a few older coins. The ones minted way, way back.” He reached out his hand. A slightly rusted coin rested on his palm, the outer curves decorated with the clear carving of a date: 1994. “I know it’s no carbon copy, but it’s the same year, so I figured it’d be close enough.”

Connor reached out to grab the coin, then stiffened as Hank pressed his hand against his open palm. The coin was cold, but neither of them broke the contact. Sumo weaselled away from Connor’s legs and sprawled across the floor.

“I know this is new for you – this whole emotions thing. I just want you to know it’s alright to be irrational.” Hank went to slide his hand off of Connor’s, but stopped as the android leaned down and pressed his forehead against it.

The skin from his hand dissipated and his LED went yellow. He relaxed at the contact, completely content as he took in the feeling of both skin and metal. It was the strangest form of intimacy Hank had been subject to, but he stayed still. After a minute, Connor’s skin rejuvenated and he curled his fingers around the new coin. He stared at it the way he often stared at Sumo.

“Thank you.”

The words lingered in Hank’s head like his jazz pieces. Gentle, meaningful and raw. He shared a real smile with Connor.

“Now, I’ve had enough of you keeping me up. We’ll force an apology out of Gavin tomorrow.” He exaggerated a yawn and a stretch, taking down the hall towards his bedroom. Then, briefly, he paused and looked back. “You better be ready in the morning, or I’ll take that coin away too.”

“Yes, Hank,” Connor said as he rolled the coin along his knuckles.

He was back to his usual self the next day – awkward small talk and efficient work. He bantered with Gavin and he listened to Chris tell stories about his son. He was quiet and polite when Fowler called them in to set an interrogation date. He was focused and earnest with his work. He lectured Hank about the cholesterol in his lunch and he insisted they stop to buy treats for Sumo. 

And no matter the circumstance, any room for silence was filled with gentle chimes of a quarter.

It was music to Hank’s ears. He could stand an android with a few quirks, he thought. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure I'm *entirely* happy with how this turned out, but I don't want to ruminate on every chapter too much, that's a bad habit!  
> Thank you for reading.


	2. Moody Mayhem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor gets into a chase, followed by a less than ideal interrogation.

Connor watched as a blue jay tended to her nest. She had an assortment of sticks to choose from and was meticulous about which would support her future young. He felt a faint smile pass over his lips at the thought of her future.

It had been three days after Hank had given him a new coin. He felt his pocket for the familiar shape to assure himself it was still there. He didn’t know how to put into words what the action had meant to him but he figured it would come with time. 

Hank had a day off and had taken them to the park with Sumo. Despite it being outside of work, Connor still wore his CyberLife jacket; it was rare for him not to. He couldn’t help but feel disappointed they couldn’t go into the precinct for the day. He had insisted but Hank was stubborn about it, saying they both needed some time off every once in a while. He suspected it was related to the coin incident, as Hank had shown some distress when his systems had slowed. It felt nice to have someone worry about him.

The park was busy and the streets around it were bustling. Detroit rarely got a minute to breathe, especially during the daytime. Connor could recall multiple times he had run an errand for Hank, something that was supposed to take a short half hour, and ended up on a two hour journey around the city as he tried to escape congestion. He didn’t mind, but Hank tended to get tetchy, warning him about whatever android assault case had taken place that week. Connor reassured him that he was designed to handle those situations efficiently, but the creases in the man’s brows never eased up.

He liked the park. It hosted a wide array of wildlife. He could run a scan every couple minutes and have something new pop up in his sensors, whether it was a dog entering the park or a new species of bird settling onto the tree branches. There were five functioning nests and two being prepared. He found it fascinating how vigilant they were in raising their children.

Hank held Sumo’s leash this occasion; he wasn’t eager until Connor had told him his muscle had degraded by fifteen percent. It was a half truth, as it was only five percent, but Connor didn’t want to be pulled around when Sumo caught a scent he wanted to chase. It was hard to watch the squirrels on the trees when he had to narrow his focus to staying upright.

They had circled the path two times before Sumo found a playmate: a younger German Shepherd named Stacie. Her owner was a distance away. She was a young woman staring at her phone, positioned against a tree. Connor had debated getting her attention, to call her to catch her dog, but Stacie was showing no signs of aggression and he enjoyed seeing Sumo bounce around the grass with her.

“There’s a sign at the front stating all dogs should be leashed,” Connor pressed Hank as they sat at a bench nearby. It was a silent plea for affirmation. Sumo was off leash too, and he could feel something tick inside him at the thought of breaking a rule. Hank was part of the police and had an example to set.

Hank chuffed. “Relax. It’s not hurting anyone. ‘Sides, I do it all the time.”

Connor nodded and watched as Sumo marked a tree. He had done it three times beforehand, so he was unsure why he felt the need to do it again.

He idly fumbled with his coin.

“The interrogation’s tomorrow,” Hank said, leaning against the wooden back of the bench. He kicked some leaves away from his boots. “You wanna take the lead on this one?”

“I think it’s a little early to be deciding that, Lieutenant,” Connor didn’t turn his eyes away from Sumo.

“You nervous?” Hank asked, and Connor could feel his stare wash over him. “You’re built for this, ain’tcha?”

“Yes, but…” Connor inhaled. The habit had come to him recently, and although he didn’t need to breathe, it made his thirium pump slow and his mind more focused. “I’ve never interrogated a human before. I’m not sure how I’ll do.”

Hank seemed to think before nodding. “True. But it’s something you’ll have to get used to if you wanna become a hardy, grizzled detective like me, right?”

“I hope so,” Connor said softly. He desperately wished to be employed by the department. He could choose his off days, he could choose his cases and he could choose which desk he would like to sit at. He wouldn’t dare leave the one next to Hank, but he liked the thought of having a choice.

A loud scream shattered the air, causing the dogs to bark and the surrounding people to panic. Connor’s LED flashed red, then yellow, as he scanned around for the source. It was the owner of Stacie, now pinned up against the tree by the arm of an indistinguishable figure. They wore a dark, hooded cloak that looked like it had been pulled out of a dumpster and they wore no shoes. They had a purse in their hand: the victim’s.

He shared a look with Hank before leaping from the bench and taking off down the footpath.

“Stop right there!” He yelled. Predictably, they did not stop right there.

Connor barely caught a glimpse of the culprit’s eyes, boring into his biocomponents, before they pulled their arm back and ran onto the grass, towards the front entrance. The sharp blades and scattered prickles did little to affect them and Connor had a hard time closing the distance. They slipped through the gate and onto the busy streets, glancing to their left and right before crossing. Across from them was a small clothing store, and he barely managed to see them snake in past the panicked crowds.

He weaved through the masses and across the road, bursting through the opening of the store. The clerk had tucked himself underneath the front counter and the customers had evacuated. Connor scanned around the environment but he couldn’t see any footprints.

“Come out,” he said, keeping his voice even as he scoured the aisles and clothing racks. “You have multiple witnesses. You can’t run away from this.”

He stepped into the shoe aisle, then heard a rustle behind him and tried to turn around before two strong arms wrapped around his throat. His hands shot up and clawed into the skin, but it was hard and unyielding. The criminal twirled them backwards, towards the back wall of the store, before one arm moved up and grabbed onto Connor’s head, forcefully slamming it into the hard surface.

Connor was then thrown backwards. He caught himself and clutched his head as error signs infected his vision, blocking it out like a virus. The criminal stood, he could hear their light breathing, and they seemed to admire their work before exiting the store, taking right. When the door clicked Connor cursed to himself, closing the errors and regaining composure. He tried to scan the environment to no avail; it only incited more errors. He couldn’t lose the criminal.

He stumbled out of the store and followed their direction. Their cloak made them stick out like a LED on artificial skin, even as they used the crowds to lower their visibility. Connor could see the static creeping at the edges of his vision, a growth threatening to make him blind to their path. He ran along the footpath opposite to them, tracking him as best he could through the panicking crowds and scan lines striking across his sight.

They stopped in front of an alley and turned on their heels, crawling under the hole of the barbed wire fence blocking the entrance. Connor quickly checked the road before stepping onto it, narrowly avoiding collision on the second lane as a car on the first surged to the side and cleared it for him. He threw himself onto the pavement, landing on his belly, as he looked back and assessed what had happened. An old woman had stepped onto the road, and the car had prioritised. His LED briefly flashed red before he got up.

Approaching the fence, he noted the alley was a dead end. The criminal had seemed to overlook this, and stood at the end, furtively looking between him and whatever options allowed them to escape. Connor cleared another error window and checked the wire. There was a faint tinge of blue liquid, dripping down onto the pavement below and forming a puddle. They were an android.

An android on the run.

Connor carefully pushed the wire forward and lowered down, pulling himself through while listening for any indication of the android moving. His hearing had been impaired on one side, but he could hear clear footsteps through the other. They were quiet, then loud, coming towards him as he felt hands tighten around his jacket’s collar and pull him.

This was his chance.

Connor freed one arm from his side and latched onto the forearm of the android. He peeled back his skin and focused, but he couldn’t interface fully. He caught a glimpse of a man’s naked body before he was cut off by error windows.

The android dropped their hold on one side of his collar and grabbed his arm, reefing it off and pushing him back against the floor. They then released his collar completely and used their free hand to push down on his chest, squeezing the biocomponents inside and increasing his thirium pump rate. The hand on his arm moved towards the barbed wire, dragging his palm along the sharp edges. Warnings flashed in his vision as the plastic coating was obstructed; he could see the faint flashes of blue sparks from inside his wound when he craned his head.

He raised his knee to shove the android’s midriff as they leaned over him. He kneed twice before hitting the sweet spot of the regulator. The pressure from their hold subsided and he was allowed room to move. He rolled onto his belly and pushed himself up with his hands, grimacing at the pool of thirium on the floor from his wounded palm. He met the android’s gaze as he rose to his knees. They had stepped back, back up against the wall. Their LED was red underneath the hood, barely visible.

“Stop this,” he rasped. “If you surrender now, I can protect you.”

Their eyes flicked to the opening of the fence beside him. They seemed to think, frozen in time, before they reached into the pocket of their coat and threw the stolen purse aside. They surged to the barbed wire and knocked their shoulder against his. Connor toppled over, catching himself on his hands once more. He watched as they eased through the opening and took off down the street. Sirens sounded in the distance, but they were too far away. They wouldn’t catch it in time.

He couldn’t find the strength to chase them once more. He had to repair.

Once he recovered enough energy to stand, he retrieved the purse and walked back out to the street to find a dead trail. He grit his teeth. If his scanners were working, he was sure the android would leave behind a thirium trail from their wound. He glanced back towards the fence, and knelt down to the dip two fingers from his clean hand into the puddle under the wire. He pressed them onto the tip of his tongue.

**[ Error. Tainted thirium. ]**

Connor looked past his shoulder as if to see their ghost run by. They had purposefully mixed his own thirium with theirs. He curled his wet fingers against his palm and sighed. He placed the purse on the ground and pulled at his tie, sliding it from around his neck and wrapping it around his injured hand. He winced at the sparking underneath and hoped nothing would catch and ignite the fabric.

He closed his eyes as he ran a self diagnostic. He had sustained a mild injury to the right side of his head, which had already begun to repair itself. Within another hour, he would be able to scan again, and the static in his vision would clear out. The wounds were never meant to be fatal, he thought. They knew what impairing him would do.

The publicity of the revolution had some downsides.

When he felt well enough, he returned to the park to find Hank at the same bench, his jacket off his shoulders and tucked around the woman. She seemed to be in shock. She garnered bruises on the arms and chest and a small cut on her cheek, but was otherwise healthy. Connor took that as a small victory.

“Christ, what happened to you?” Hank went to stand as he approached, but decided against it as the woman shook.

“They got away. They damaged me, but it’s nothing I won’t be able to repair.” Connor attempted another scan, directed at the woman. It was all garbled language. He took a knee in front of her. “I found this,” he said gently and offered the purse to her. “I’m sorry about the blue blood. It should evaporate in a couple hours.”

She took it with a shaky hand, lips thin. She nodded her head in thanks but said nothing.

Connor’s LED whirled yellow, then blue. His face hardened. “I need you to tell me what you saw.”

He jumped as Hank’s hand landed heavily on his shoulder. “C’mon, not now. The girl’s in shock. Leave her be.”

Connor felt… odd. He felt the way he did when he got conflicting orders, confused and tasked with prioritising. But there was nothing to choose between. They would need to make a report, hand-written until he could properly repair, and for that they would need to know what transpired. There was no reason he couldn’t do it; he was designed for the exact purpose of extracting information. He abided by Hank’s will and stepped back, but not without a scorned look to follow.

Hank began to ask her questions and each one was met with a meek reply. Connor decided not to watch and instead went to collect Sumo and Stacie, both of which Hank had loosely tied to a tree. He combed his fingers through Sumo’s smooth fur, then scratched Stacie’s head. Sumo helped his systems avoid overloading, and made reconstructing less of a painful task. Stacie would likely be able to do the equivalent for a human, he decided.

As he returned to the bench with two canines in tow, it seemed Hank had wrapped up his small investigation and more officers had arrived. Connor handed the woman her dog’s lead and watched ambivalently as she was escorted away by arriving officers. Sumo sat at his hip and whined at the loss of his playmate.

“Did you make a report?” Connor asked, running his thumb along the handle of Sumo’s leash.

“Yeah, she’s fine. A little dramatic, if you ask me,” Hank chuckled. “The others should handle it. How’re you doing?”

Connor imitated his smile then cast his eyes down. “My systems will take a while to recover, but I’m okay.” He ran another diagnostic. His repairs were running well. “The person I chased, they were an android.”

“Shit. Well, didn’t think a human could bang you up too much.” Hank gently pried the leash from his hands and directed them down the footpath leading to the carpark. “You think it’s the one we’re looking for?”

Connor shook his head. “I couldn’t see what model they were, and the thirium sample was tainted.” He rubbed his hands along eachother, feeling his makeshift bandage for any looseness. “I’ll have to go back and see what evidence I can find.”

“ _We’ll_ go back,” Hank said firmly. “And make sure you file that in with Fowler. You know how he gets.” With no room for argument, they both went silent.

“Why wouldn’t you let me talk to that woman?” Connor blurted out. He paused, checking for any signs of disapproval from Hank, then continued. “It’s what I was programmed to do.”

Amusement shone in Hank’s eyes. It was as if there was a joke, a joke that Connor had yet to understand. “Look,” he said. “You just have a… I’m not sure how to describe it. You have different approaches, but the transitioning between them isn’t so… smooth. It can creep some people out, y’know?”

“I’ve never encountered an issue,” Connor said.

“Yeah, well, you’ve only worked with androids up until now. You said it yourself.” Hank tugged at Sumo’s lead as the dog attempted to chase after a squirrel. “Just don’t get the wrong idea. I’m still trusting you with tomorrow’s investigation.”

Connor would have agreed, but he wasn’t sure what the wrong or right idea would be. They entered the carpark and he helped to push Sumo into the back seat. Sumo was reluctant to get back into the car, knowing it was going to take him away from the park. Connor flipped his coin on the drive home, thinking.

**\--*--**

If Connor had been bothered by anything from yesterday’s events, he had bounced back quickly. Hank was relieved with how chatty he was the next morning, listing possible routes for the interrogation and explaining his theories on his android encounter. He could never be too sure what the android did and didn’t understand at times, and with something as personal as his own programming, he always feared saying the wrong thing.

They were organised to be in during the early hours, and while Hank didn’t like waking up at seven in the morning, he had to admit he was eager. He hadn’t worked many android cases, the most being during the period of the revolution, but this one was the first in which they barely had a lead. The thirium had told them a model, and Connor had constant gears turning in his head. If the android that had attacked at the park was the same one, he kept saying, then the situation was sure to be bigger.

But if the woman confessed to the murder entirely, with no involvement from the android, then they would be assigned off of the case. He wouldn’t mind it, but as morbid as it was, he hoped there was something more. There had to be. There always was when Connor got involved.

Hank hadn’t used the interrogation room in a while. They entered the first section and greeted the officers inside, watching the suspect through the one-sided glass. She was staring at a wall with a far away look in her eyes, as if she were desperately trying to escape her reality. It resonated with him. “Whenever you’re ready,” he gestured to Connor, who had his steely stare on her.

He followed Connor’s lead as the android activated the second door, stepping into the room and sizing up the suspect. On closer inspection, her lips were upturned in a bitter smile and the seams of her clothes were ripped. She looked cleaner and more put together than she had in her original photos, but she’d had a fair amount of time to clear off the blood, which made any person look better.

She was silent as Connor seated himself. Hank stood at the back. The table was made of stainless steel, so shiny it bore clear reflections of what was above it. It supported a thin file containing images and notes of the crime. The seats were small, almost too small; designed to make you uncomfortable. The walls were painted a dark grey and the floors were pristine. There was an overwhelming sense of space, so much space that it made one worry whether the room would simply eat them up in an endless void.

Connor was as still as a statue, save for the slight cock of his head as he processed a new piece of information. The wife avoided eye contact with him. She looked to the reflections in the table, the emptiness of the walls and even Hank himself. He crossed his arms and stayed firm.

“Do you know how long you’ve been here?” Connor asked.

Her eyes flicked to the right side. “Six days.”

“Do you know what we’re here for?”

Her eyes moved to the left. “You want to know what happened.” Her voice was small and it betrayed her body. She was a strong looking woman, with defined cheekbones and large hands. They were cuffed and flat against the table, unmoving.

Connor leaned back in his chair and adopted a less intense demeanour. “My name is Connor,” he said, then gestured to Hank. “This is Hank. What’s your name?”

“Ava,” she said. She continued to alternate between Hank and the table, only looking up at him when she spoke.

Connor nodded and slid the file between them before opening it. The first image was a close up shot of the husband’s corpse. He had a bloodied chest and glassy eyes. The floor surrounding him was painted red and glass was strewn across the carpet from the shattered television. Ava shifted in her seat and tried not to look.

“Tell me who this is,” Connor requested.

Ava turned her head to the left side. The one-sided window was empty for her but it probably would’ve been more comforting than what was in front of her, Hank thought. “My husband,” she said.

“Can you tell me what led to this?”

She remained quiet.

Connor spun the file to face him, observing its contents. “On the twelfth of May, eleven thirty six pm, your husband was murdered. We accounted several lacerations on the chest and abdomen and severe head trauma. His brain was bleeding and he was presumed to have died in a matter of minutes.” He watched her face closely. “You were covered in his blood when officers arrived. You are the main suspect of the crime.”

Silence. He flipped through the images to the notes and took a harder stance.

“Your husband, Johnathon Sallow, has a history of illegal substance abuse and is suspected of working for an android trade organisation. Your address has been on record for investigation of domestic abuse.” He read the notes in a clear, stern voice but garnered no viable reaction. “It seems to me that he was an abusive character. Did he beat you?”

She returned to staring into the stainless steel. Hank watched Connor. His LED alternated between yellow and blue, figuring out the best way to approach the situation. This suspect was acting much like the android he had first interrogated, which he figured only made it easier.

“It’s common that when a person feels trapped they retaliate with violence,” Connor continued. “He hit you and you took a knife. You thought it was self defence until it started to feel right. The first few stabs weren’t enough, so you kept going, and he kept fighting. Then you shoved him, and he stumbled back.” He sorted back through the files to a particular image, a shot of his corpse with a bigger focus on the surrounding area. “That’s when he hit his head.”

Ava nodded her head slowly.

“But that doesn’t make sense.” Connor lowered his voice. “Your fingerprints were found on the knife and several corners of the room. No fingerprints were found on the major areas of impact, and any fingerprints on his corpse were dated to be after he had died. The head trauma is also too severe to be caused by a simple fall.”

Hank frowned.

“We were told that an android is suspected to have been involved,” Connor said. “If your husband is confirmed to have worked with the organisation, we have reason to believe it was a model yet to deviate. Androids have a tendency to deviate when experiencing emotional shock. It’s often explosive.”

Ava’s voice was scratchy, barely audible so that Hank had to strain to hear. “They’d say it was an alibi.”

“You’ve remained silent during your holding. We cannot believe anything we’re not told.” Connor then softened, “But I believe you.”

Hank felt a knot in his stomach as Ava finally looked up at Connor. She looked at him the way most people did before the revolution. The way some continue to nowadays. She looked at him as if he were a piece of garbage to be discarded on the side of the street, like he could never know or amount to anything. She laughed drily before saying, “And you’re supposed to be a deviant?”

Connor raised his eyebrows in a silent question. Hank dreaded the response he was about to hear.

“I really believed that whole… revolution,” she spoke more clearly and looked to the left, as if the words were hard to form. “The ‘deviants’ have such convincing acts, you know? They really seem human. But you… _you_ still act like a machine.”

Connor shifted in his seat. The control of the situation had been pulled out from under him, and Hank could see him stress. He needed to step in.

Hank cleared his throat. “We’re here to interrogate you. Unless you’re going to give us answers, shut your damn mouth.”

Ava did exactly that.

Connor’s leg shook beneath the table. “We need to know about your android,” he said. “If you can explain to us what happened, we may be able to help you.”

“Will you be able to catch her?” She asked. Connor opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off as she inclined her head towards Hank. “I want an answer from him.”

“Yeah,” Hank said. Connor briefly looked like a kicked puppy, but returned to his stoic stare in a matter of seconds. “We’re working on it. What matters now is how we sentence her. We don’t believe you did the deed.”

Ava bit her lip and stayed quiet for a few minutes. It felt like hours to Hank, as he kept his eyes on Connor, watching for anything worrying. Then the silence was broken with Ava’s voice. “Her name was Betty. John brought her home from his job.”

Connor’s LED went yellow as logged the information.

“She wasn’t like the others… human, you know? She acted like him,” she gestured to Connor. “Everything felt automated. She took orders and she completed them. John said that’s how he liked her. He wasn’t much into the androids right movement, but I… I felt differently.” Hank moved closer to Connor as she spoke. “I treated her right, and she started changing. She was interested in things, she seemed to want things but I never got her to say so.”

“He lost his mining job a few years before it all changed; got real into the red ice stuff. He got his job with the android company before the revolution, but they kept running after. He kept saying he didn’t really… love me, anymore. But Betty, she was so sweet. She never complained about anything, and she was always so helpful. I kept believing that there was something human inside her, like all the androids on the TV.”

“You don’t now?” Hank asked.

Ava’s voice became scratchy again, filled with hurt. “I loved her.”

He felt like a timer was ticking away at his ear. “What about the murder?” He pressed.

“John spent so much time at work. He never… touched me anymore. I wanted to prove myself.” Her brows creased with a mix of anger and despair. “I got one of those magazines to see what I could do with Betty… she always made me feel so good about myself, like I was worth something. But he came home early that night and saw us. He was an angry and bitter man, but he never hit me like that. And when he did, I saw that he was so… regretful, so genuine, like the man I married. He tried to apologise, but Betty… something went off in her. It was like someone pressed a button. She attacked him, and...” The next few words seemed to catch in her throat.

“It’s okay. Take your time,” Connor reassured her. She scrunched her nose with disgust.

“When Betty started stabbing him, I managed to get the knife off her, but he was already bleeding so much… I begged for her to stop, but she wouldn’t. She started slamming his head against the wall like she was getting some kind of sick thrill out of it. No- no person would act like that. He’d done nothing to her.”

Hank rubbed a hand gently over Connor’s shoulder. He was sitting silently. “So, you’re confirming that the android killed him?”

“Yes.” Ava stared directly at Connor. “The android killed my husband.”

Hank turned to the glass and nodded, a signal for the officers inside the enter. “That’s all we need from you for now.” The door clicked open and Chris stepped inside, observing the scene. “Miller here will escort you back to your cell.”

Connor stared forwards as she left, though her eyes didn’t leave him until she was safely out of the room. Hank bent down as far as his knees would allow and tapped the android’s cheek. “You still in there?”

Connor blinked a couple times before facing him. “Sorry. I’m here.”

“Don’t pay attention to what she said, alright?” Hank said, resting a hand on his forearm. “She’s hurting, and with a story like that she’s got some reason to be a little angry about androids.”

“I understand.” Connor’s fingers twitched a little against the surface of the table as he stood up.

Hank wanted to say more. It didn’t help he had been yapping at the guy about his unnatural temperament just the day before, taking over a situation completely just because he came off a little weird to some people. It was a tough one-two punch to handle. To his surprise, Connor changed the subject before he could get another word in.

“I have a plan to get on the android’s trail,” he said. “But I’ll need to visit Jericho. It may take until tomorrow.”

Hank exhaled heavily and checked the time. It was barely noon. “I can handle a little casework on my own, I’m not totally incompetent.” As they both stood and made to leave the room, he decided to give it another push for the day. “You sure you’re good? We can talk about it.”

“I’m okay,” Connor confirmed. 

They were quiet during the walk back to the desk. Connor stopped into Fowler’s office then disappeared for a half hour, returning only to bid Hank a farewell, a bag of mysterious contents at his side. He didn’t see him again until the following night, and his hands were covered in blue blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like this chapter was a bit of a mess, especially with the interrogation scene, but I tried my best to work some kind of flow into it. I'm not overly comfortable with describing police situations, especially since I am not American and don't have a good grasp of how they work. 
> 
> I hope everything is at the very least enjoyable!  
> I tried to keep things exciting to read in the first half as the interrogation has quite a bit of exposition in it for the crime.
> 
> Thank you for reading, and a huge thank you for all the feedback so far! I'm very grateful with how many people seem interested!


	3. Twitchy Timing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor visits Jericho, then investigates the streets of Detroit.

Jericho had certainly received some renovations, Connor thought.

The old, battered freighter had been blown and sunk to the depths of Detroit’s waters, leaving the residents homeless. With the revolution successful and rights being placed, it left Markus with the dilemma of finding a new place to call his castle and aid in the processes. Fortunately, CyberLife tower became vacant after the company was drained of their funds. With no androids to sell, their profits plummeted far beyond rescue. What was once a building with emotionless walls, harsh reflecting floors and prisons below the ground was now a warm and welcoming sanction for androids, serving as a hospital and a place to stay when one was out of a home.

It didn’t feel so welcoming to Connor.

The polished tips of his shoes touched the carpeted floors and he felt a chill run through his circuits. The comfort of CyberLife Tower was that it was familiar. It would never be something he could not understand. He knew his place within the building, a machine to be commanded, and he knew what each resident of the building would be doing. Jericho Tower was filled to the brim with androids, deviants, people, all of which he could never begin to predict the behaviours and desires of. All of which saw him for what he was; the former deviant hunter, unnerving to androids and exasperating for humans.

The first floor was remarkably different from its predecessor. The entrance was no longer foreboding and cold, the main area greeting each visitor with warm air and friendly music. The walls were lined with comfortable seats and the front desks were organised so the long lines never became unmanageable. Coloured lines traced the white walls, mixes of blues, greens and reds – it was unrecognisable to him. More elevators had been added to accommodate the constant movement that came with running a sanction. The original CyberLife elevator remained; other than an easier interface, it looked the same. It was a stark white, pristine from every angle, and it glared at Connor’s peripherals, begging him to look. He ignored it.

“Hey.” Someone prodded at his shoulder. It was one of Markus’ associates, North. He hadn’t seen her in the crowds.

She looked regal with her strawberry hair and adventurous clothing. Connor had only spoken to her on a few occasions, and he had always gotten the impression of a fiery spirit, perhaps a little unhinged. He didn’t feel completely safe around her, like she would bare her fangs and snap his arm off if he tripped over his words one too many times. She was never directly threatening, but they stood at opposite ends of a bridge and he didn’t want to take the risk of meeting her in the middle.

“Do you have authorisation?”

Connor froze. Markus hadn’t transferred him anything! Was there something he had missed? He skimmed through his forefront files and found nothing.

North smiled. “Lose the frown, I’m just messing with you. Markus told me you’d be here.”

She tugged at the rim of his sleeve and directed him through the crowds, over to the elevators. The white surface grinned and beckoned him closer, close enough to see his reflection glaring at him through the glass doors. His temple strained and spun as his reconstruction system booted.

He could see them – the two guards. They were standing either side of him, weapons tucked away but available at a moment’s notice. If it hadn’t been for the blood, it would’ve been easy to mistake them for androids. He couldn’t see their faces, their skin or their clothes; only outlines. It was tantalising, the feeling of ghosts watching ever stronger when he couldn’t see their eyes. They fizzled out of the air once the reconstruction ended.

The doors shut behind them and North turned her back to him. “North. Floor forty four.” The elevator pinged and the ground lifted from beneath them, rising at a steady pace. North stepped back to stand beside Connor, looking to be scanning him but finding nothing viable. “It’s been a busy day.”

“The front desk was crowded,” Connor agreed. “Is it usually like this?”

“Mostly. More homeless androids than usual, though. It’s harder for them to get housing when the humans insist on overcharging.”

Were the walls closing in? Connor felt his shoulder brush against North’s. The movement of the elevator accelerated and the space around them became physical, butting at his sides and tucking pointy nails under his pseudo-skin. He attempted to center his thoughts and move them to a more relevant topic. “Did you happen to have any WR400 models come in recently?”

Each time they passed a floor he was allowed a glimpse into the daily lives of other androids. Some would be sprawled across couches, heads lolled back and systems running at a sluggish pace. Others would be busying themselves with work or recreational activities, such as painting or transcribing interviews displayed on the televisions. In the medical ward it was hard to spot any free space as nurses busied themselves with their patients.

The only sections Connor had visited of his own accord were the homeless shelters. Androids would be gathered in groups, sharing their stories of abuse, discrimination and hopes for a better future. He would listen in to all that he could, to try and understand the mindset of all the androids that had lost their lives to his hunts. It was selfish, so incredibly selfish, when he let himself think for a moment that he shared their sentiments.

The Zen Garden had once been his home. It was a pocket of safety tucked away where only he could touch it. Amanda had been there every day, asking him about his findings and prompting him to piece together a string of thoughts he may otherwise put off to the back of his mind. The doves would glide on a blanket of soft air and the moss would creep up against the white flooring, bringing about a sense of life and colour along the edges of a dull platform. It had all been lost over the course of the revolution, and sometimes he let himself wonder if there was a way he could’ve preserved it.

He had betrayed Amanda, and while he knew it had been the right thing to do, there were times where he would love nothing more than to cruise along that quiet lake again.

“No, most of them were housekeeper models, some labourers.” North’s answer brought him back to the elevator. They were approaching the forties, high up on the tower. Connor was grateful he couldn’t see the distance. “No WR400s.”

“That’s unfortunate.”

North placed her thin fingers on the sturdy shoulder of his suit jacket. “I hope she’s safe.”

Connor shied away from her touch upon realising how close they were.

The elevator was brought to a gradual halt as they reached the top of the tower. Connor waited instinctively, tilting his head at the odd look North gave him. “I’m not coming with you,” she explained. “I’ll be back on the first floor when you’re ready to leave.”

Right. There was no logical reason for her to accompany him, it was business between Markus and himself. The trill of the elevator faded below him and he analysed his surroundings. It was a mix between a home and an office, with luxurious lounges and tidy desks. To his right, there was an aquarium with some bright orange goldfish, following the flow of the tank’s filter. Connor liked the way the smaller ones bobbed at the surface. The walls were adorned with paintings; paintings of androids, paintings of humans, and a particular painting of an android Bloodhound that made him smile.

There were two central rooms, the second connected through a hall, short but just long enough one wouldn’t be able to grab every detail from too far away. Once Connor walked through it, he could see a figure hunched over an exceptionally large desk, surrounded by refined-looking machinery and a few odd paint blotches.

Markus’ coat had received an upgrade since the harsher days. The ends once torn and the sleeves wrinkled up were now seamlessly sewn together and ironed to perfection. He looked a grand mix of intimidating and welcoming, a leader to be reckoned with but trusted to care for his people. Connor felt strangely small.

Around the desk, masking the walls, were plaques of the names and serial numbers of the androids who had fought and lost their lives during the revolution. At the crest, overarching Markus, was a plaque containing his name, North’s, two other associates and Connor’s. Connor was made aware of its existence when it had first been created, but the desire to look at it was lost as soon as it claimed him as a core asset to their victory.

Connor had made a difference in the last act, but he had still played the role of an antagonist for so long. He wanted to feel like he had truly earned his name on the wall.

Markus turned at the sound of his footsteps and opened his arms. “Connor! You’re right on time.”

Connor stopped just before his fingertips and stood stiffly. He was relieved when Markus alternated to a pat on the shoulder. “I’ve looked over the report you sent me,” he said. “Nothing involving her or her family is on our records.”

“I thought so.” Connor walked past him and placed his bag onto the desk, prying out the contents. There were four small sample tubes filled with thirium. The scene of the crime had offered more than enough, but he was able to weasel an extra sample out of the forensics lab for good measure. “I was wondering if you would help me track her.”

“Track her?” Markus placed a palm onto the fine wood of the desk and reached for one of the tubes. He narrowed his eyes as he scanned its contents, holding it between two firm fingers.

“If you managed to source the thirium, it might help us identify where she could be running to.”

Markus looked to the papers on his desk. They were blueprints of a re-imagined storage room to replace one of the underground floors. “It’d just lead us back to here. CyberLife didn’t produce thirium anywhere else.”

Connor shook his head. “It was made here, but CyberLife shipped thirium out to their warehouses regularly.”

“I don’t know, Connor… it seems too far-fetched that we could get something so specific out of a few samples.” Markus placed the samples down on the far side of the desk, next to two tidy stacks of paperwork. “Why haven’t you asked your forensics to do it?”

“The use of androids in the police department is still limited. They don’t have the kind of technology Jericho has.” Connor inhaled sharply and moved to rest his hand on Markus’ forearm. “Please. This is important.”

Markus looked him over, then lowered his head in silent defeat. “Alright. I’ll give it a try.” He placed his own hand on top of Connor’s, shiny white plastimetal flooding over its features. Connor jerked under his touch, eyebrows knitting together as a request for access appeared in front of him.

“I want a direct line of communication with you,” Markus explained. “It’ll be easier to send you what we find, rather than you coming back here.”

Connor was hesitant to accept. He knew he was designed to interface with other androids, but the idea of him being out of control pricked at his nerves. It was uncomfortable knowing he was allowing another android to poke around his own being. He trusted Markus to a degree but it was hard to quell the dread of him exploring certain areas he shouldn’t be, seeing things he wouldn’t want to see. The tips of his fingers dug into Markus’ coat, wrinkling the fabric. An unfamiliar worm wriggled through the crevices of his systems, shifting and squirming through his abdomen, up his throat and making his head cavity feel full. His eyes spasmed with the pressure; his vision flickered like a malfunctioning light.

When Markus finished up, he raised his hand to Connor’s temple, the tip of his index finger knocking lightly against the center of his LED. The information, once a writhing amalgamation pressing against the walls of his metallic skull, died down into coherent sections and filtered through into his memory logs. Connor demanded distance as soon as he was able to see clearly.

“Strange,” Markus remarked. “I’ve never seen that before.”

Connor brushed his temple and stared at Markus with wide eyes. “What did you do?”

“You were having trouble processing, so I helped you.” Markus waved two fingers in the air. “That’s, uh, not the strange part, it’s more the… eyes.”

Connor pursed his lips. “Oh.”

He knew it was unique to him. There was never an illusion that there were other androids who ticked, but he had never felt truly bothered by it until Markus had mentioned it. Until the leader of the androids, a Promethean masterpiece to the eyes of the public, looked him in the eye and called him strange. Separated him from the rest.

Markus cleared his throat. “I take it that’s everything, then?”

Connor wavered on his words before he looked at Markus again. “...Yes. I’ll be going now.” He didn’t miss the concern that flushed through those odd eyes. The way those lips parted to ask a question, then closed again when they decide it wasn’t worth the conversation that might follow. Connor forced a polite smile before he exited, retreating to the icy embrace of the elevator’s walls.

Alone in the elevator, nothing was called to question. He didn’t have to think about his place among androids or his place among humans. He didn’t have to be questioned about things he didn’t understand. The only company he had was the reflection in the glass doors, and it never said a word. All it did was watch him with those gaunt brown eyes.

North was waiting to greet him on the floor level. The desks were still busy and the lines were still long. 

“Why the long face?” She asked. Connor was not in the mood. He moved to skirt around her, but the tip of her left shoe blocked his path. “You know, I read the report too. I might be able to help.”

Connor analysed her. Her expression was complicated, netted in a sea of thoughts that were foreign to him. “I’m sorry, but you can’t participate in a police investigation,” he said.

“Then what’s Markus doing?”

Her voice fell on deaf ears as he left the building.

The area surrounding the tower looked different without snow. With plants rising up through the cracks in the roads and the water not dampened by a tinge of ice, the world around it felt more alive. Connor wasn’t sure if he preferred being knee deep in snow, or knee deep in androids coming in and out of the building. It was a struggle to find a moment to catch his breath, only revelling in independent air when he was in a taxi seat.

He didn’t feel like seeing Hank yet.

He watched the streetlights pass him by, illuminating the rim of the car door with a vibrant golden glow for a second at a time before fading back into a dreary, metallic, artificial coat of paint. The road was muffled underneath the thick rubber and sturdy chassis of the vehicle, every bump or dent smoothed out by its ever-flowing movement. Sensually and audibly, the car was deathly quiet.

Worn children’s playthings, ruddy old benches, a comforting flow of water and the faint echo of a memory. That’s what awaited him when he stepped out the car onto the premise of Riverside Park. Its popularity increased tenfold during the warm season, but pop in with the afternoon sun and most children would be at home, tapping on their tablets or playing with their favourite robotic pet.

That’s what Connor assumed, at least. He had only ever visited it at night.

He passed the playground with a wary eye, ignoring the taunting bench and stopping his stride at the edge of the river. Androids and humans shared a common fear of the water, knowing it would freeze both biocomponents and organs alike. There were gates for that reason, separating the safety from the danger. Connor rested his elbows on the smooth surface of the fencing and dared to look into the river’s eyes. It wasn’t as ominous as a great height, not reminding him of either his failures of his accomplishments. It was simply a home for fish, and he liked that.

He watched the ripples long into the night, hoping to catch a sight of a goldfish surfacing, wanting to know more about the large shadow of a figure that observed its home so intently. They never did, but the thought was enough to keep him interested for hours.

He decided to walk back to Hank’s home. It wasn’t far, and it was late enough that Connor would be able to detect someone far before they could see him in the darkness. It was an undisturbed trip up until he reached the driveway, when he felt a ring reverberate through his head and his sight stammered. It was a message from Markus.

_Just testing._

He stumbled on his feet and fell to the ground, the thirium in his bag crumbling under his weight.

**\--*--**

“What the fuck?”

Hank was, understandably, startled at the sudden appearance of an android with hands caked in blue blood.

It didn’t occur to Connor what the scene looked like before he had turned the doorknob. He felt… ashamed? No… he felt… trapped? Hank wasn’t a threat...

Embarrassed. He felt embarrassed.

He held his bag in one hand for Hank to see. The fabric was lathered with blue and dripped a steady flow onto the carpet below. “I dropped some thirium samples when I got here,” he explained. “I’m sorry for startling you.”

“Fuckin’-A you’re sorry, you prick. Give a man a little warning before you walk in like that!” Hank flew to his side and took the leaking bag, holding it at an arm’s length. He wrinkled his nose. “You’re lucky this shit evaporates.”

Connor watched him turn and head into the bathroom, hearing some glass shatter on a hollow surfaxe and a faint ‘Fuck!” as Hank presumably dropped the bag into the bathtub. He walked into the kitchen and ran the tap, squirting some soap onto his hands and lathering them. He grimaced as the stains persisted.

He heard Hank laugh behind him, lingering at his shoulder. “You’re pouting like a kid,” he said. “Never imagined CyberLife’s finest creation would cry over some spilt thirium.”

“I’m not crying,” Connor frowned. He touched a finger to his cheek, just in case.

“It’s an expression, and you know that.” Hank held his hands and scrutinised them. “You’re not actually hurt anywhere, are you?”

“No.” Connor wrested his hands away. He didn’t want Hank to turn blue as well. 

After rubbing a thumb against his chin and giving him one more once-over, Hank seemed satisfied with his deductions and moved to clean the thirium drops from the tap. “How’d you’re, uh, android meeting go?” He ran a cloth along the glistening metal. “You’ve been gone for ages. It’s...”

“Ten thirty,” Connor filled in on reflex. “I asked Markus to run some tests on the android’s thirium. He’ll be transferring the results to me over the next few days.”

Hank shrugged. “I guess it’s something.”

He pulled a tray from the rack and squirted a small amount of oil into it. He mixed it around in his fingers before beckoning Connor over to the kitchen bench, holding his stained hands with a commanding force and coating them with the oil. His temperature senses told him it was cold, but he was more concerned with how slippery it felt. He couldn’t connect his fingers if he tried. “What are you doing?”

“Do you ever stop asking questions?” Hank teased. He held Connor’s hands in the tray with one arm as he bent down and rifled through the nearest kitchen cabinet. He pulled out a large, blue microfiber cloth and scrubbed roughly over his hands. The sensation was nice, he thought, he imagined it was how Sumo felt when Hank ran his hands up his back. Connor watched as the blue gradually started to fade with each scrub, pooling in the tray and mixing with the oil, a thick sapphire concoction. It continued for over a minute, then Hank directed him back to the sink. “Wash off your hands.”

“I could’ve just deactivated my skin,” Connor said, but did as he was told. He was delighted to see the usual colour return to his covering. Then, to his surprise, Hank licked his thumb and rubbed it against his cheekbone, wiping away a blotch of thirium. His thumb was blue when he pulled it away, and he quickly washed it off under the water.

“I don’t want you looking like you’re wearing cybernetic gloves for the next half hour,” Hank said. “You need any clothes?”

Connor looked down at his jacket. His white dress shirt glowed a faint blue on the front his abdomen, as if touched by a sapphire radium, and his sleeves were dotted unevenly up to his forearms. He had an outfit neatly folded in Hank’s linen closet, the attire he used to disguise himself in the old freighter. “I’ll be alright, thank you.” He shrugged the jacket off his shoulders and hung it by the front door.

“The PD sent out a squad today.” Hank sunk back down into the couch and patted the cushioning beside him. “They searched the park and surrounds. Didn’t find anything, though.”

Connor didn’t mind that Hank shuffled all that bit closer as he sat down. It looked like he was still examining him, stripping him down for any hidden wounds, a genuine concern for his physical welfare. It didn’t feel like standing next to North, where he felt he was being stripped down for weaknesses rather than any laceration. “I’d like to go back there,” he said. “The place I was attacked, I mean. I don’t want to have missed something important.”

“The squad would’ve found something.” Hank switched the channel to a late-night crime show, a dramatic retelling of a lover’s spat gone wrong. “Though, I guess they didn’t have a Connor around.”

Connor raised his eyebrows.

“Seriously, name one android exactly like you.”

He searched the ceiling for an answer. “The PC200 models,” he said. “They fulfil similar job roles, excluding investigation.”

Hank snorted. “They’re similar, but they ain’t you.”

Connor didn’t have an answer for that, so he opted to shift his attention to the television. He knew the crime the story was loosely based around, and could wager a guess at what the outcome would be. Hank seemed to share his thoughts, as his cheek slipped deep into his palm and his eyelids drooped. It was only a half hour later before the fatigue won the battle and he pat Connor on the knee lightly. “I’m going to bed. If I wake up ‘cause of your coin, I’ll come out and chop your damn head off.” He made his exit with a quick ruffle of his hair. “Goodnight, son.”

Connor smoothed the synthetic material back into place and let his eyes follow Hank down the hall. He could enter a stasis to pass the time, or run through today’s events, but he didn’t feel like reliving the trip to Jericho and his systems felt taxed as it is. He creeped away from the couch and out the front door, moving to lean against Hank’s vehicle, and listened to his coin’s lullaby.

**\--*--**

They arrived at the alley at noon. An immediate scan of the area delivered nothing important to Connor’s files. There were no marks left behind, no objects of interest, only the faintest remains of the blended thirium on the barbed wire. There was no trail to follow; it was nothing more than a waste of time for both of them.

It was a cold temperature out, but Hank’s car provided warmth even when stationary. Connor’s limbs felt nimbler and his biocomponents picked up their speed. His eyes glazed as he retreated into his mind, scrubbing the memories of that day. They were distorted and static, nothing but a slideshow of broken remnants. He rubbed his LED.

“I can’t even reconstruct. There’s nothing.”

Hank turned the ignition and rubbed his hands in front of the heater. “There’s gotta people who would’ve seen it. We could ask around the stores, see if the squad missed anything.”

Connor looked at him curiously. “That’s not a bad idea, but wouldn’t they have reported something? It’s already been a few days.”

“You’d be surprised how lazy people are. Why’d you think we invented you?” Hank stretched out his arms as far as the car would allow and exaggerated a yawn.

Connor knew why. Androids were expendable; it was easier to replace a broken android than a human. They had never accounted for them becoming a race, just tools to fade in and out of work. “We should split up,” he said. “It’ll take too long for us to cover everywhere.”

Hank frowned. “Sure, but I don’t even know what I’m ‘sposed to be asking for. I barely saw the android.”

Connor surveyed his memories once more. No results. “Ask for a person with no shoes and a dark coat.”

“You sure that’s all you can remember?”

“Unfortunately. I was impaired during the chase.”

“Right...” Hank followed suite as Connor stepped out the car.

He made sure Hank was well on his way before leaning against the wall beside the alley. He wasn’t interested in checking the stores; talking to clerks, or talking to anyone. Hank was easy to lie to in these situations, and it wasn’t like he was going to be redundant. There were other objects of interest, other things to pry information out of.

Namely, one of the security drones buzzing around the streets.

He circled the block until he caught its route, a triangular figure bobbing in the air. There was no way make it fly down without asking one of the maintenance staff, and Connor would need both Hank and a warrant to justify giving up a few minutes of security. The option was too time-consuming, and there was no guarantee of success. He looked around the area and spotted a truck parked to the side of the road, adjacent to the drone’s route.

He sized up the truck then hooked his fingers onto the doors, using his feet to push himself up and latch onto the rim of the roof. Once balanced on top of the vehicle, he tracked the drone closely. It moved at a slow pace around corners, and faster along straight lines. The street he was on was void of any curves, which meant he would have to act fast. He bent down and waited.

Seconds ticked by painfully before the drone moved into optimal position. Connor moved to propel himself forwards, then – Ping!

His eyes twitched madly at the same second he launched for the jump, throwing him off his course and to the side of the drone. He grabbed desperately at the edges of its body, tipping it diagonally down towards the floor and causing them both to spin. They veered to the side before crashing into the wall of a tattoo parlour. Connor was thrown back and landed on his belly, hearing a large crack beneath him. The drone had hit the floor first, sliding under his chest to cushion his fall.

He pressed his hand against the damaged wires and attempted to interface. It proved fruitless; the drone was beyond repair. Connor tapped his fingers against it. “Shit.”

“Jesus Christ, what the hell did you do?”

Hank curled his fingers around the shoulder of his jacket and pulled him to his feet, sliding his hand down to support Connor’s back as he regained his balance. “Dogs off leash in the park is wrong, but destroying property is okay?”

“I thought I could get something out of it,” Connor defended. “I didn’t mean to destroy it.”

“That doesn’t mean you can just… take it out of the sky! You could’ve gotten hurt.”

“It would’ve helped.”

Hank pinched the bridge of his nose. “I thought we were past this, Connor.”

What?

Connor wasn’t able to question it as Hank moved on. “Our android’s been caught on some cameras, but it’s all mix and match. It’s like they’re… teleporting or something. There’s no pattern.”

Connor thought back to the alley. “They could be taking the back ways. The drones don’t normally cover them unless they’re instructed to. Which stores did you check?”

The streets of Detroit were like a badly drawn maze, with narrow alleys hooking the back of stores and thick roads darting in every direction. Hank was right; there was no clear pattern to where they were spotted. At one moment they would visit two stores consecutively, then the next location would be three blocks away. They stuck to whichever quiet roads were around the stores, Connor scanning each area three or four times. There was nothing distinguishable, nothing to suggest they had ever been there.

After a long wind through the city, they ended up at a store secluded from all the others. It was a hardware store, brand new and local. Connor had been messaged when going to talk to the clerk, leading to an awkward situation involving an apology for why he had just winked at the man. The clerk informed them the android had gone inside the store and asked for a pair of pliers, leaving when they were told they would need to pay for it. The clerk had checked the stock afterwards; they didn’t steal anything. 

It didn’t make sense. If this was the android that had murdered Johnathon Sallow, he would expect them to be desperate. Stealing fell in line with most runaways, especially ones that had committed murder. It was difficult to draw a line that you had already crossed, and they were bound to be erratic in the mind.

“We could set up some cameras ‘round the alleys,” Hank suggested when they left. The afternoon had ticked by and the streets had quieted down, giving them more room to hear their thoughts. “Worth a shot, right?”

“I still think the drones could be useful,” Connor said pointedly.

“Connor –“

“Lieutenant, please.” Connor cringed at the way his voice rose a pitch. “They cover more of the streets than the security cameras do, they have to have something.”

Hank sighed. “Alright, but we’re not breaking them, got it? We can ask the maintenance staff to call one down.”

“We would need a warrant.” Connor frowned and rubbed his palms along eachother. “I could try to interface without contact, but...”

“You can do that?” Hank looked surprised. Connor was sure he had performed similar tasks around him before.

“Yes, but it takes more processing power for larger objects. I can’t guarantee it will work, and they may notice me tapping into the cloud.”

“Why didn’t you just do that before, then?”

Connor shied his eyes to the side. “I’ve never attempted it with something on the scale of a security drone before.”

Hank raised his eyebrows. They both knew that if Connor was suggesting it, he would attempt it within the next few minutes. There was rarely a debate.

They located a drone only a five minute walk from their previous spot. It patrolled several streets, looping back to its starting point in ten minute intervals. Connor couldn’t help but feel tense, thinking of the ways a simple task could go horribly wrong. He had broken the last drone, and to illegally interpolate into the security network after was asking for a large amount of trouble. He wouldn’t mind if it were just him; he was an android, his place in the world was still dubious at best. He only feared that Hank would become collateral damage like last time.

He waited until the drone reached a descending point of its travels, wavering barely below the lines of the roofs it flew by. Connor drew back his skin up to his forearms, both to lessen his system workload and to get a better feel of the connections around him. He splintered his cloud and shot it towards the drone, locking translucent shards of code together. He held the drone’s grip tightly, comforting but demanding, and let the footage from its banks flow into his storage.

_Ping._

His eye fluttered. Small lines cracked through the bar of his focus.

_Ping._

Another jerk, and the line holding them together crumbled. He secured only a quarter of the drone’s footage. It continued on its way, oblivious to his existence.

“You seizing up or what?” Hank placed a hand on his head. He willed the movement to stop.

Connor sighed, a sharp and stinging sound in the crisp air.

“Guess you can’t turn it off, huh?” Hank smiled sympathetically. “Did you get anything?”

“Not enough.”

“Stop thinking ‘bout it then. Have another go when it circles back ‘round.”

Connor nodded, apprehensive but willing. He righted himself and waited for the break in the wind, the triangular shape shadowing over the grit in the floor again. He decided on closing his eyes this time, feeling blindly around in the air until he prodded the systems of the drone. Hank’s hand had moved down to his shoulder, giving a tight and reassuring squeeze. He confirmed the transfer and waited with a needlessly baited breath.

It was successful.

He opened his eyes and smiled at Hank.

“Not so bad.” Hank grinned.

They repeated the process with the surrounding drones, looping back to the block Hank’s car was parked when Connor felt he had enough to analyse. The drone he had destroyed earlier was still on the ground, unnoticed and ignored by those that passed it by. He bent down and placed a hand against it. “I think we should take this,” he said.

Hank stopped at his car and scoffed. “What? No. Are you crazy?”

Connor wrapped his arms around it and brought it to his chest, standing up. “We can try to repair it.”

Hank looked at him as if he had grown a second head. He sighed, fumbled for his keys and Connor heard a click as the boot unlocked. “I really don’t understand you sometimes.”

The drone was an awkward fit considering the size of Hank’s car, and it barely fit amongst the other items in the boot. He moved a six-pack of beers to the backseats and carried a first-aid kit on his lap for the journey back to the station, all to fit the drone face-down in the square compartment. Connor wasn’t sure how he was going to repair it or what he would do with it once he did, but it was the only drone that patrolled the area next to the alley. It had to have something precious.

The trip was mostly quiet until Connor was transferred several files at once. It was exciting to further the investigation, but the sudden influx of multiple images and documents made his head thrum with a feeling he had never felt before. He pressed the pads of his fingers against his temples and let his cheeks relax against his palms, cradling his head between two porcelain hands. Blue light pulsed from within the crooks of his fingers, following a silent beat.

If Hank noticed, he said nothing. Connor figured it was better for him to focus on the road.

He opened his eyes when something was pressed into his lap. A pair of headphones and a music player, connected by a thin cord. He looked to Hank for a reason, but his stare wasn’t met. He plucked the headphones from his legs and placed the left cushion to his audio processor. The music was loud and caused him to startle, but it was recognised as one of Hank’s heavy metal songs.

He increased the volume, enough to drown out the rumbling of the car, but quiet enough for Hank to focus.

The music gave him enough direction to ease the processing and browse through the files he was sent. They were CyberLife papers, more specifically transfer documents from a warehouse on the north side of Detroit. They detailed the type of thirium allocated to each android model and the overall cost of each gallon needed. The models were listed in sections, dictating which needed a certain type of thirium.

_WR400, BL100 – Thirium 310.45_   
_HR400 – Thirium 310.46_   
_RK800, RK900 – Thirium 310.05_

He stalled.

“Connor?”

He was sure had read it wrong.

“Connor, we’re here.”

Hank flicked his cheek. Connor offered some words. They were foreign to his processors, but they seemed to placate Hank; he got out the car and waited for Connor at the entrance to the police station. He sat alone in the car, mind whirling in a pool of confusion, until somewhere a hand on the clock struck twelve and he felt time begin to move at a natural pace again.

He would ask Markus about it later. He couldn’t get distracted now.

“I think I have a lead,” he told Hank. Connor erased a line of text from his copies of the documents, and they headed inside to decipher it together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay on this chapter. Writing can be very frustrating for me sometimes.  
> I hope you enjoy regardless. :)


	4. Silent Signs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keep Quiet.

**12:00 AM**

Dark.

It was so dark.

There was nothing; not a wink of light, not the shadows left behind.

The air around him felt _wrong_ , it felt _polluted_ , thick with a toxic gas his sensors couldn’t detect. 

He could hear the wind screaming, pleading, telling him to move before the worst could happen. It pounded its fists against the glass, scraped its nails on the windowsill, shook the trees with its ever-growing rage. He wanted to call out to it, he wanted to ask it to help him, to move him to a place where he could see, where he could breathe.

Outside, a thin line of lightning punched the ground, the sound booming and echoing off of the void around him. He saw a flash of skin, human skin, and he could hear heavy pants from a mouth that was not his. He realised he was laying down, he could feel a soft surface cushioning him, the fabric providing false comfort. There was a rough force pinning his arms down, his limbs strewn against the length of a bed.

The lightning pounded once more and he saw a face. Sloped brows with hungry, hungry eyes looking at him as if they were going to strip him down to his basic wiring and pull them out one by one like splinters in skin. He tried to scream but he could not; his mouth ignored his commands, locked tight and secure. A window flashed at the side of his vision.

**PRIMARY DIRECTIVE: KEEP QUIET.**

Keep quiet? Why would he keep quiet? He was being held against his will by a beast that wanted to tear him apart! He had to scream, yell, do _something_! 

The man was leaning down closer to him. He could see, he could smell and he could feel every pore of his sweaty body. Each flash of lightning brought his face closer, like a horrid picture show that he couldn’t look away from.

His arms were released but he couldn’t move them. His coding demanded he stay as still as a statue, as quiet as a mouse. He didn’t know why, but he could feel the impending danger. He saw a wolf watching him with its fangs bared, ready to pounce as soon as he tried to escape. It told him this place was safe, that anywhere else would be dangerous, that he had to stay _here._

Fingers carefully dragged themselves up each side of his neck, caressing his lower jaw then tracing the lines of his cheekbones. They poked at his skin teasingly, mocking the fact it had no give. Mocking the fact he was made of plastic. Words were whispered, digging into his mind and telling him how disgustingly perfect he was.

Chapped lips lowered to hover above his. The man’s breath was hot and burnt like acid. His arms were free, he had his chance, he just had to reach to push him off and it would end, he could overpower him, he could –

**PRIMARY DIRECTIVE: KEEP QUIET.**   
**PRIMARY DIRECTIVE: KEEP QUIET.**   
**PRIMARY DIRECTIVE: KEEP QUIET.**   
**PRIMARY DIRECTIVE: KEEP QUIET.**   
**PRIMARY DIRECTIVE: KEEP QUIET.**   
**PRIMARY DIRECTIVE: KEEP QUIET.**   
**PRIMARY DIRECTIVE: KEEP QUIET OR SHUT-DOWN.**   
**PRIMARY DIRECTIVE: KEEP QUIET OR SHUT-DOWN.**   
**PRIMARY DIRECTIVE: KEEP QUIET OR SHUT-DOWN.**   
**PRIMARY DIRECTIVE: KEEP QUIET OR SHUT-DOWN.**   
**PRIMARY DIRECTIVE: KEEP QUIET OR SHUT-DOWN.**   
**INITIATING SHUT-DOWN: 00:00:15**

Connor woke from his stasis.

**\--*--**

When Connor had said he found a lead, Hank had never felt more relief in his life. He’d had to have seen the streets of Detroit a thousand times over before he met Connor, and as much as he liked the android, it was no more fun the next time. If anything, it was exhausting.

Hank slumped in the seat of his desk when they cleared the station’s entrance. “Jesus, I’ve never walked that much in my life.”

Connor looked at him incredulously. He was sat straight in his seat, hands rested flat against the desk. It reminded Hank of a schoolboy.

“What?” Hank frowned at him. “We were out there for hours.”

Connor’s eye twitched, not the type for when he got a report, but rather when he found something amusing in an unbelievable sort of way. He pressed a finger to the surface below his terminal and appeared to be uploading something. Hank tried not to stare at him.

Connor hadn’t elaborated a thing on his supposed lead. He had curled in on himself in the car, holding his head like he had a concussion, like his brain was pounding against his skull and he was desperate to soothe it. Hank was tempted to ask, but there wasn’t a question he could pose. Androids didn’t feel pain, not in the same way a human did, and he would just be reminded of that. Then, as they pulled up, he got that look. The look that suggested he was anywhere but in the present world, and Hank didn’t like it. He liked when Connor was with him, because the confines of that android’s mind were likely a lot less safe the world outside of it.

Whatever had been bothering him seemed to wear off when they went inside. He was more focused, though his LED was never blue. Hank knew he would brush it off with something to do with the security drones, or the evidence, or the case itself, whatever would satiate him.

His terminal unlocked and three pages worth of paperwork presented itself on his screen.

“I’ve transferred it to your terminal,” Connor said. “It’s from her warehouse.”

Hank skimmed the contents. They were standard transfer papers, though there was a blank section at the bottom of the third page, underneath a list of android models. He chalked it up to shoddy formatting. “How the hell…?”

“Different android models need slightly different types of thirium. Markus must’ve succeeded in sourcing hers back to the warehouse it was stored in.”

“I thought you and Markus checked all the warehouses?”

“This one...” Connor frowned. “...It was very private. We didn’t know it existed until now.”

He noticed his shoulder’s move slightly, and Hank trailed them downwards. “What’re you thinking about?”

“Hm?”

Hank gestured to his hands, which ran along eachother smoothly. “You only do that when you’re thinking.” If he squinted, really taking in his facial features, he could’ve sworn he saw an air of offence on Connor’s face.

Connor opened his mouth, and it hung there like a goldfish. His stare drifted beyond Hank to the office exit. When the right words found him, he closed his mouth and cleared his throat. “I think there’s a chance that’s where she’s headed.”

“How would she even know? It’s barely been a fortnight since she deviated.”

“Android’s memories aren’t lost when they deviate. It’s possible she was activated in the warehouse. It would make sense to run to a familiar place.”

Hank looked back at the documents. The location wasn’t awfully familiar to him. It was one of the run-down areas, accommodating only abandoned houses and a shady bowling establishment. He figured they would’ve run out of business after all this time. “You think we should take a look?”

“I think _I_ should take a look,” Connor said. “If there are androids like her, they could be dangerous and unpredictable. I wouldn’t want you to be hurt.”

“Hey, I can handle myself, alright?” Hank’s chest tightened, like a rope snaked around it and squeezed at his heart. He trusted Connor to take care of himself, at the very least physically, but the idea of him going alone was something he didn’t want to let slip by without a fight. “’Sides, you can’t go alone unless Jeffrey approves.”

“I can talk to Captain Fowler myself, I just need an approval from you.” Connor’s eyes skirted down to his lap, where his fingers pressed into the fabric of his jeans. He looked like a nervous little kid asking to go outside to play.

“Nope. It’s crazy, and Fowler would never let someone from his team go alone to a place like that.” Hank spun his chair closer to Connor and rested his palm on his forearm. “I don’t wanna have to deal with the paperwork if you get hurt, either. I was busy for hours last time Gavin broke a bone, and he’s not worth millions like you.”

Connor looked up at him, desperate. “Lieutenant –“

“I’m putting my foot down, Connor. It’s not happening.”

“If you were to –“

“Enough.”

Hank’s voice lowered, threatening and firm, overriding anything Connor could say with a deafening finality. Connor scooted his seat backwards, holding his forearm like it had been harmed. Hank hung his head and sighed.

“Look, I’m sorry, but I don’t want something happening to you when I’m not on the scene.” 

“I understand.” That stupid look again. The emotion in his voice had drained away, and he swivelled his chair to face his terminal.

“What about the footage from the security drones?” Hank asked, hoping to dissuade from the fight.

Connor met his eyes briefly. “I don’t want to upload it to the police network. I’ll enter a stasis tonight to look over it.”

Hank accepted the change in mood and faced his own terminal. “Alright.”

**\--*--**

**12:01 AM**

  
The kitchen was spinning around him, melting under his feet in a sickening whirlpool. Connor stumbled forwards and grasped at the edges of the counter, his chest pressing hard into the silicate. Everything around him felt dangerous, he could feel eyes watching him and hands tugging at his ankles, trying to coax him back to the cold, unforgiving floor.

He was scared. He couldn’t control anything, not his limbs, not his thoughts, not his systems. Everything ran rampant with a personality of its own, seeking out to defy him, seeking to tear him down. He could feel the tips of his fingers creak under pressure as they dug into the surface below, desperate to grab at a lifeline that wasn’t there.

He could still hear the man’s desperate panting, the hot stickiness of his breath – or was that him? Was he the one gasping for air? But why would he need to breathe? It was a non-essential function. He was a machine. He did not need to breathe. But he wanted it, he wanted all the air in the room. He wanted it to fill his insides so that he knew something was there.

Was he still in that room? He couldn’t see the bed and he couldn’t see the man. There was no thunder outside, only the light sprinkling of rain. The static around him eased, slowly, and the feeling of danger lessened. The wolf hid its teeth behind soft, fuzzy lips, and he was able to acknowledge the Saint Bernard sleeping softly on the floor in its place. The floors came to a still and his vision became clearer. He recognised his surroundings.

He wanted Hank. So he called his name, in a scratchy, helpless voice, like a lost kitten crying out for its mother, abandoned and alone in the rain-soaked streets.

Hank’s footfalls were heavy as he rushed to the kitchen. He was speaking but his voice was unintelligible, and Connor could only imagine he sounded the same in turn. He kept his hands hooked to the edges of the counter, moving slowly along it towards the large, familiar figure. He wanted to touch him, he wanted to make sure he was real.

He reached out one arm. His connections moved mechanically, stiff and robotic. Like the sun shining through dreary clouds, a warm palm blanketed his cold, hard hand. No fingers intertwined with his own, no pressure was applied, it simply sat and shared its warmth.

Hesitantly, he pulled away from the counter and slid back down to the floor. The hand remained against his touch, drifting down with him. Hank echoed his movements, bending down matching his height until they were both sitting comfortably on the floor. They were far apart, connected by outstretched arms. Connor didn’t want to move closer.

It could’ve been minutes, it could’ve been hours, it could’ve been days. Connor’s perception of time was as unwound as his mind. But, when he felt the hand leave for a moment, to press an old collector’s coin into his hand, he found some words.

“Am I wrong?”

Hank didn’t say anything. If he did, Connor couldn’t hear. He wasn’t sure which it was. His eyes fell to the kitchen tiles. There were some droplets on the surface.

The hand pulled away, and Hank left the room.

Did he do something wrong?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short and simple chapter this time around, but a necessary evil for what comes next!


	5. Lost Lamb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor and Hank miss eachother... literally. Hank misconstrues a very simple situation.

The morning brought the beginning of the weekend and one of Hank’s few days off. He would usually sleep in on such an occasion, but he couldn’t bring himself to this time.

He woke early, long before the sun poked its head above the horizon, slow and silent in the kitchen when he noticed Connor leaned against the counter. He was still on the floor, with his head lolled back and his LED pacing a jaded yellow. He didn’t expect him to enter another stasis after what had happened, but he felt an inkling of relief at the fact. He wasn’t sure if he could confront those desperate child-like eyes again.

He looked peaceful with slacked shoulders and closed eyes. A sad, distant kind of peaceful. The kind that made Hank’s heart hurt in an achingly familiar way, made him want to hover a hand over his open mouth to check he was breathing. Of course, androids didn’t need to breathe. Connor reminded him of that always.

The morning was crisp and cold, clouds darkening the paths with the looming threat of rain. Hank put on his thickest coat and some gloves for good measure before he stepped into the elements; he needed to clear his head, and it would never be clear when he was around Connor. Sumo whined at him, pawed at his pants, asking where his owner would dare to go at such an early hour.

Hank tousled the dog’s thick neck fur and kept his voice quiet. “I won’t be long. Look after him, alright?”

He wanted to make the most of what the icy breezes offered to him before a hot rain overcame the city. Rain with heat was both an unpleasant and deadly mix, making everything around feel sticky and humid. The streets were clear as far as the darkness allowed him to see and he couldn’t hear any muffled engines from cars. The birds were silent and the crickets had all but disappeared to leave behind the ominous, dim glow of the streetlights as the only sign of life Hank could see.

He wanted to think about what had happened. He had rushed into the kitchen when his name was called, seeing Connor clawing at the kitchen counter like a wounded animal, panting as if there was no air in the room. He had been shaking like a leaf, looking at him with glazed eyes and knitted eyebrows like he couldn’t understand a word being said to him. He had reached out to him and Hank took his hand without a thought.

It was fine until they sank to the floor and Connor’s movements became less violent, allowing Hank to look at him closer. Everything about him resembled a traumatised child, someone young and impressionable who didn’t know how to handle what they were feeling. It reminded him of the first time he had been in a dangerous situation, how doom bore a hole in his belly and everything around him grinned at him with sharp, taunting teeth.

The scariest thing had been when Hank saw Connor’s LED – it was blank. There wasn’t a hint of colour, not a dull light. It was translucent against his skin. Hank had only ever seen that on one type of android: a dead android. That was when Hank couldn’t bring himself to continue the memory.

He didn’t want to think about the way Connor had acted then. His eyes had been pleading for an answer Hank couldn’t give to him, because he didn’t know what to do, he didn’t know what had happened and he sure as hell didn’t know how to go about telling him what he wanted to hear. It brought on a helplessness he had only ever truly felt one other time in his life. He didn’t know how to handle being the difference maker back then, and he didn’t know how to handle it now.

Hank thought he had a grasp on the basics of comforting his friend. Connor clearly felt uncertain at times, and there were certain words and cues that would make him perk up. But the raw terror in his eyes in that moment, the way he asked Hank that question as if _he_ were the one who had planted the seed of the thought into his mind….

Hank didn’t want to feel that kind of incompetence a second time.

Orange light timidly seeped into the cracks between the footpaths. Hank could see ahead of him now; he wasn’t aimlessly ambling through the void. The flowers perked up at the sudden warmth brought to them, and birds began to chirp their morning songs. It had been an hour already, Hank thought, an hour of thinking about that android. Minutes ticked by like seconds whenever he was on his mind, and he wasn’t sure it was in a good way. His eyes walked along with his feet, counting every scratch on the pavement below. The world was waking up around him, and he desperately wanted to be asleep.

He was pulled from his brooding when he bumped into someone, catching himself before he could fall onto his back. He heard a feminine gasp and the click of heeled boots, a delicate hand coming to support him by his shoulder.

“I’m so sorry! Are you alright?”

Hank smiled awkwardly. “S’alright, it was my fault. I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

He got a good look at them then – they were an android, a familiar one. A feminine model with striking blue hair, intense eyes and regal eyebrows. Her free hand attached itself to his other side and her mouth opened with surprise. “It’s you!”

“It’s me?” Hank parroted.

She must’ve realised her own enthusiasm and pulled away, brushing herself off. “You’re Lieutenant Anderson, right? We met at the Eden Club.”

Hank felt the earth shift below him when the dots connected. Never in a million years did he think he would see her again. “How’d you know my name?”

“You’ve been on the news quite a bit, with the deviant hunter.” She frowned. “But the humans don’t call him that name. Does he use one?”

“It’s Connor.” Hank hadn’t thought about that; every news report had coined him as a private police android. The suggestion that deviant hunter was used exclusively by other androids made him feel uneasy.

Despite the glowing circle on her head that would suggest otherwise, she was very human. She stood with a calm poise and she talked with her hands, fingers constantly working to convey the image that painted itself in her mind. Where Connor had awkward ways of expressing himself, she had a strong flow in her language. It only made the knot in Hank’s stomach tighten.

“I always wondered if I’d see one of you again.” She offered her hand to him. “I’m Tracy now – with a y.” Hank shook her hand and she tilted her head. “Do you two still work together?”

“Yeah, we do.” Hank chuckled to himself. “I’d say he does most of the working, though.”

“I’m really grateful, you know,” she said. “When he reached for that gun, I really…. I really thought he was going to shoot. I don’t know what I would’ve done if he did.” She looked at him with the softest eyes he ever did see. “If you could thank him for me, I’d really appreciate it.”

Hank fumbled on his words before shaking his head. “Well, you should swing by the DPD sometime…. I think it’s better you tell him yourself.”

She considered it before nodding. “You’re probably right.”

Hank didn’t allow the silence time to stale. “Well, uh, I should probably get going. Streets get crowded real easy.”

“Right,” Tracy grinned at him. “I hope I see you again, Anderson.”

Hank blew air through his nose when she was gone, as if the simple act of exhaling would carry his thoughts away with the wind, leaving his head empty and serene. Unfortunately, it didn’t, and as the first few drops of rain pattered against his jacket, he decided he’d had fair share of walking for the morning. He feared he would bump into his own father next with the way events had been unfolding.

**\--*--**

  
He couldn’t be distracted.

He had the footage: he needed to review it. He couldn’t waste time thinking about a fictional world. The fictional world where he had been powerless, violated and terrified.

Connor chose to enter another stasis shortly after he had evened out his pretend breathing and quietened his cybernetic brain. He pressed himself into the wall of the counter and forced himself away from the reality around him. He focused solely on the footage he gathered, flicking through them and scrubbing back and forth, looking for anything that could give him a clue. The android only appeared in some, sometimes for mere milliseconds, sometimes for longer. They had nothing in common, not a shared tell of movement or a certain objective she seemed to have. She would enter stores or sneak off into alleys, off the grid until he found her in another recording.

Convenience store, alleyway, hardware store, alleyway… Frustration burned worse than a flame. There was nothing to tell him where she was going, how she was moving around so strangely.

Unless… he was putting too much of his focus onto the android.

Connor reversed through the recordings, skipping the ones the android failed to appear in, locking onto the environment they were surrounded by. Every street was different from the other, whether it be different buildings, different cars or different people, but there was a singular feature that stood out to him. There was a manhole cover on every street she lurked on. Connor never saw her enter or exit the streets, the drone would only catch her in the middle of her activities before hovering past.

That had to be it. He looked to the most recent record of her, following the direction she walked in. She angled left towards a shop window, just as the drone passed over and took its sights away from her. She had to be entering the manholes. It would explain how her locations were scattered, appearing on one street then appearing again on the next one over, leaving no viable traces behind. The sewer systems were uncomfortable and fetid, a breeding ground for disease, but that wouldn’t be of concern for an android.

Connor brought himself out of his stasis and fell forward onto his fingertips. The light of morning caressed his face. He checked around, quickly, looking for Hank. He wasn’t around, but a scan told him that the house-key was missing. Good. He didn’t want to talk.

A wet surface pressed on his fingertips and he raised his hand to smooth it along a ragged snout. Sumo grumbled happily with the affection, following Connor’s hand upwards as he stood. He was uneasy on his feet and he felt taxed, but relaxation was the last thing on his mind. He knew he could catch her in the sewers: she had to still be mildly wounded. He could follow even the faintest traces of her thirium like a bloodhound.

Sumo whined when his fur was left untouched. Connor dropped to one knee and placed a hand on his head. “I’m sorry, but I have to go.”

He never liked leaving Sumo. Hank always said he was dramatic, but Connor thought if he was in Sumo’s shoes, unable to defend himself with anything but his teeth, he wouldn’t like to be left alone in the house either. He visited Hank’s room to collect a weapon then made sure every window was locked, every blind was closed and the door was deadlocked before he left.

He could be wrong. It could’ve been a coincidence, and he could end up spending hours in the sewer systems for a hopeless goose chase. But Connor would rather that than bide his time in the house, alone for as long as Hank avoided him, and risk having another reconstruction concoct against him. It was completely out of his control and he didn’t like it.

He would be alright without Hank.

**\--*--**

  
Hank knew something was wrong the moment he had to unlock the deadlock. He barely used the thing; he didn’t have any valuables, and he trusted Sumo to ward off anyone who stepped further than the doormat. Either Connor had left the house or he was being paranoid, and Hank truly hoped it was the latter.

He was greeted with a big, fluffy force to the chest when the door opened. Hank took a moment to be grateful that Sumo’s claws were blunted from the floors. He gently pushed him down and scratched him behind the ears, keeping his head up to view the immediate area. The kitchen was void and there was nothing out of place that he could see, no clothes moved or cabinets opened. Hank called Connor’s name twice, each syllable fading into dead, empty air. Every room was undisturbed, all but his bedroom, which had an open drawer. His mouth went dry when he realised his gun was missing.

Sumo had left his side to sit forlornly at the front door. Connor leaving the house wouldn’t have had to be a big deal if it wasn’t so out of character. Hank had expressed to him his freedom to leave many times, but Connor was insistent at staying at with him unless something was deemed more important. He committed to his role as Hank’s work partner even in their private life. If he left the house, Hank always knew why.

This time, Hank had no idea why he had left. He hadn’t gotten a text, and no note had been left. Connor disappeared.

Despite his best efforts, he couldn’t stop the worst case scenario from boring into the forefront of his mind. Connor had what he assumed was the equivalent of an existential crisis the night before, and Hank had done the bare minimum to comfort him. In his own haze of emotions and memories, he was too frightened to get closer to Connor, to say anything more, to do anything but leave the area. Connor had the naivety of a child – how would he know how to manage intense feelings?

He had grabbed a gun and left the house without a single word of where he had gone. It was a scenario Hank saw far too often. Hell, even he had tried it a couple times in his life. He wished he had stayed just that little bit longer, so he could see the fear leave Connor’s eyes and he wouldn’t have to think about seeing the light leave them instead.

“Come on, Sumo.” Hank grabbed a worn, black leash from the credenza in the living room. “Let’s go find him.”

Sumo was a good dog. Going on car trips meant happiness for him, they meant spending time with his favourite people. He would bounce on his paws and lick at Hank’s arm while the leash was being connected to his collar. This time, though, he was patient and ready. He knew the seriousness of the situation, he knew what it meant to Hank, and he was worried for his other friend, too. That’s why Hank liked him more than people.

He took off his coat and hung it at the door as he left. He was used to making a fool of himself if it meant making sure that stupid android was alive.

**\--*--**

  
Connor decided to follow the theoretical routes the android had taken, even if it was inefficient in the long run. If there were any helpful clues he could catch when he was allowed a closer look, it was well worth the extra time put onto the journey. He passed through each street, stopping every hour to recalculate his route, skimming the footage and applying it to the environment around him, until he reached the last location the android was spotted.

It had started to rain, and it was hot. His temperature sensors were telling him not to linger in the heat for too long. His movement was already sluggish from the humidity, but he was built to last more extreme circumstances than a Summer’s day – he persisted. The streets were emptier when the air was like a smog. If people weren’t avoiding the heat for health reasons, it was likely because of vanity.

The last location was by a thrift shop, and there was no circular shape that he could see in the area. Even without the weather, the street was quiet and cars were a rare sight, the roads void of all but one. The silence was eerie and if Connor focused, he thought he could feel the shadows of the android still shuffling around, unperturbed.

He approached the lone car. It was short but wide, one of the newer autonomous models. It looked out of place on an empty street. He looked to the windows of the surrounding stores. They were empty.

He laid his palms flat against the door of the car and pushed. It was exerting even for him, feeling the rubber tires strain against the ground and the frame of the car jostle under his force. He pushed until the bumper was an inch away from the store window, and scouted out for any onlookers before he stepped back. The manhole had been concealed underneath it, as he suspected.

He pried the cover off and poked his nose into the hole. It didn’t smell pleasant, but he wasn’t programmed to be off-put by a nasty smell; what bothered him was the dampness of the sewers. It could easily tamper with any evidence he could find, and he didn’t like the slick layers covering his body. He remembered the room with pigeons, with the deviant Rupert; it didn’t bother him at the time, but looking back at it, it was very unhygienic.

The sewers looked brighter in their photos. The floors and walls were thick with mould and the tunnels looked endless. Water dripped around him, echoing off the walls, filthy and heavy. It was the perfect place for a runaway, he thought. Humans would have to be careful stepping through the systems, and their preparation time alone would give the android enough time to scamper off to a different area.

He started walking.

**\--*--**

  
Hank decided after his third lap around the block, he would be better off checking the police station. Connor treated that place like a second home… or a first home, maybe. He never called Hank’s house anything other than that – _Hank’s_ house.

Sumo liked the extended drive. He had his head out the window with a big, wet tongue lolling along the waves of the wind. Hank didn’t like taking Sumo out when a situation could be dangerous, but he knew how much Connor liked him and if he was in any kind of emotional distress, the big mutt would do a much better job at calming him down enough to be conversational. Hank would just have to be extra alert.

He parked up at the station and held Sumo by the leash. It was too hot to leave him in the car, but he couldn’t go inside – Hank had tried once before, and though Fowler excused him for many things, he was strict on the dog policy. He tied Sumo to a streetlight pole just outside the doors. He wouldn’t be long, he was sure, and Sumo had a mean bark; he could handle himself.

The front area was almost overflowing, the television blaring with the latest news and the front desk workers dancing around like frantic bees. Hank had a stroke of luck not being called in. When he entered the office, he fared an even busier sight with officers and detectives knee deep in their paperwork. All but one, who had his legs up on the desk and hands behind his head.

“Gavin.” Hank revelled in the way he jumped when he gave him a light slap on the back of the neck. “Has Connor been in?”

Gavin switched into a casual slouch, wiping off some dirt his shoes left behind. “The plastic? Nah, I haven’t seen ‘im. You lost ‘im or something?

“He left this morning – just completely disappeared.”

Gavin hummed. “Maybe you finally drove ‘im away, eh?”

Gavin had the temperament of a child and a mouth full of ants, squirming around and waiting to nip at anyone who crossed his path. Hank was used to it, and even found amusement in it at the best of times, but whether it be the timing or the mood, he felt his ears burn and his lips twitch downwards at the hurt and shame it stirred in his gut.

The younger man must’ve noticed and went quiet, the closest thing to an apology Hank could get. He didn’t bother with a goodbye, moving to the next familiar face: one who happened to be actually doing his work.

“Chris, have you seen Connor at all this morning?”

Chris halted his writing and looked up. His eyebrows furrowed with concern. “No. Is he alright?”

He had a different air about him than Gavin did. Where Gavin was provocative and cocky, Chris was genuine and dedicated. He took pride in his work and put his all into it, but if something was for the greater good he would take a risk. It was a mentality Hank shared and admired, especially with Chris being so young. Knowing what was right was better than being good at what was wrong.

“He up and left, took my gun and everything.” Hank crossed his arms. “Never thought he’d start stealing.”

“We might be able to get some guys together if you think he’s in danger.”

Hank had thought about it long before it was worded to him. He clicked his tongue and shook his head. “It’s alright, it’ll probably be…”

He trailed off when his attention was snatched away by the news echoing off the walls. The television was nothing but white noise until a particular word was spoken, something he swore he had heard before. 

_Jericho._

“...fine.” Chris looked at him curiously when he drew out his finishing word. Hank thanked him for his time and turned heel, back towards the front. The television was showcasing Jericho tower, highlighting the mass amount of success it had found in aiding androids in the state. They were hoping to move to a country-wide scale in the coming months.

Connor mentioned Markus… he was the android that managed Jericho, wasn’t he? The one who had lead the revolution.

Hank looked around him once more, just in case Connor happened to slip past his peripherals, then returned to the car with a new location in mind.

**\--*--**

  
It was difficult to get a secure connection from the sewers. He got vague signals, fragments of mapping every now and then that he had to piece together like a pixellated puzzle. He was heading north, away from the main part of the city and towards the less wealthy areas. He knew he was on the right track when small specks of blue began to pop up on the walls, invisible to the human eye but as clear as the sky to his.

He reached into his pocket and tapped the gun he’d tucked away, assuring himself it was still there. He didn’t want to use violence to catch her, at least violence involving bullets, but a shot to the leg would stop her from escaping, and a shot to the arm would stop any further attacks – just as long as he placed them right. He had to focus the joints of the android, to stiffen them or stop them completely.

Every so often, the trail would end and he would walk aimlessly, blindly, hoping for a flash of blue to pave his path again. It always did, and with the shards of mapping he received, he came to the conclusion that she was heading towards the warehouse. It was exhilarating to have something come together so smoothly after being frustrated with a lack of evidence. Blue drew him in like a moth to a flame. It was stark and brilliant against the dull colouring of the sewer walls, or the muddy water below his feet.

There was nothing to think about when he was on the hunt other than his target. There were no memories, no hypothetical situations, no strange and unwanted emotions. There were no strange reconstructions ruining his stasis and preventing him from his work. Cases made him feel directed and comfortable, knowing he was able to carry out the task he had been given. There was nothing and nobody to say he was inept.

The air around him buzzed when scratches appeared on the walls. Scratches of a false god to androids, RA9 – proof of a newly deviated android. It was like the revolution had never happened, and Amanda was still in his head, telling him how great he was doing at finding the deviant. Edging him on and on until he completed his mission.

He stopped when a ray of light intruded on his path. He leaned forwards to look up through the manhole. There was no sound other than the rain and the wind lightly jostling garbage along the floors. Climbing up the ladder and barely peeking above, he could see it was beside a construction site. It looked abandoned. He figured the android must be coming back if the cover was still off. Even in a place void of traffic, it would be too risky, and she had proven to be calculating enough when she wrecked his scanners.

He would wait for her to come to him. There was room around the entrance so that the walls of the sewers were still shadowed, and assuming she came down in a hurry, he could catch her before she saw him hidden with the plain colours. He dimmed his LED as much as allowed and dropped into a crouch.

It wasn’t too long before he heard feet scuffle across the sand and pavement. The sound paused when it came close to the manhole and a shadow intercepted the light. He picked himself up the slightest bit, ready to pounce when she came through.

Seconds crawled by. Then, she arrived.

Connor lunged forward like a panther, wrapping two arms around her neck and holding her tightly. She squirmed against him and clawed at him with one hand. Their footing was uneven, tilting them from side to side, and she kicked against the tips of his shoes. She managed to wedge her fingers beneath his grip and loosen it, just as she tripped him up. He kept a hold on her as he fell back. He could feel her spin with the room she had gained, turning to come face to face. He wriggled his arm and pulled out his gun, Hank’s gun, but it slipped from his fingers and landed in the water beside him.

He grunted when he fell, and his systems alerted him of an unknown object in his shoulder. She held tightly onto a knife embedded in him, dressed with thirium that oozed into the water below. It mixed with the brown to form a dark colour; it looked like blood. Dried blood. He couldn’t look at the wound any further when her other hand struck his jaw, forcing his head to face forwards and look into her eyes.

She looked like North – the same fire in her eyes, the same creases at the corners that suggested something more. Her hair was frazzled and a deep crimson red. He hadn’t had the chance to see her so clearly at that moment. He tried to snap a photo while concealing the activity from his LED. If she noticed, the knife was no doubt going to be placed in a much more vital area.

“I know you,” her voice was echoed by a mechanical drawl, suggesting damage. “Deviant hunter. I saw you.”

His resolve vanished along with his grip. That bit at Connor in way he didn’t think it could. The term was mostly used in reference to his past self, his past work, what he had done during the revolution. Yet, at that moment, he felt like the deviant hunter again. Tracking her like a hungry predator, restraining her only to be put into a precarious situation where he would be forced to make a choice. It was uncannily similar to what he experienced when he was a machine. He never noticed the look in their eyes before, not that he had ever cared to look back. But now it was an unavoidable confrontation.

It wasn’t so much the hatred that bothered him. It was the underlying expression; the fear. She was scared of him, not the collective force he worked under. She didn’t fear the police, she feared _him_. He could tell with that look, her tone; the way her hands were shaking, jostling the knife around in his wound. She didn’t need to say it because he felt it, breathed it, and all motivation he had to fight her vanished under that petrified stare.

She reefed the knife out of him and held it in the air for a moment. She was deciding, he realised, deciding to stab him again. He was in a vulnerable position. All she had to do was stab into his regulator, and he would be defenceless, left alone to die in the dirt and the disease. He could make a move then, reach for his gun and shoot her, now that she had one hand off of him. But he didn’t need to – those eyes didn’t speak a word of blood-lust.

She pushed herself off of him and ran. She was cloaked by the darkness, leaving a thin trail of his thirium behind her.

Connor held a hand against his injured shoulder. It didn’t hurt, but it felt like static and he could see his thirium levels dropping from the flow. A part of him wanted to chase her, but it would be a reckless decision. She did know him, she had proved that much. How she did, he couldn’t say for sure, but he conceded to believing that he did need a partner.

For the moment, he decided to lay. At least he had been correct.

**\--*--**

  
Hank arrived at Jericho.

It was a powerful sight. He had never visited CyberLife tower, but he had seen it in pictures. It was as any corporate building looked: shiny as hell with a touch of suspicious activity. He remembered the articles about them, how they were spying on the populace for their own financial gain. Jericho Tower had a different atmosphere completely, something Hank didn’t think he could put into words.

It was the home of the androids, he could say that much. If Connor wasn’t there, he was sure he could get answers to some important questions. He was about to spend his entire day looking for one android, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a tough one to write, lots of back and forth scenes!  
> I hope it's enjoyable to read. :)


	6. Heavy Head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the depths of the warehouse, he works.

  
Were androids people?

Hank had once thought not. In his mind, they were the same as any piece of artillery: crafted to fulfil their set tasks and nothing more. They could never be entrusted with life like a human could. Experience would always outweigh having something programmed into your head. That was proven the day he lost Cole to an android; the surgery was faulty because the android was faulty, his child died because the android had made a wrong move… or so Hank had thought.

It was a hypocritical way to look at something, something face-value that nobody had tried to pry into until the revolution came to pass. He had been segregating an entire species based on a mistake humans made themselves, but he’d been so blinded with grief and anger that he never stopped to look at the facts. The fact that the assigned surgeon was too high to operate on him, how the android was their only choice. A last chance for a dying child.

Almost a year later, walking through the sliding doors and stepping into what could’ve been the only place considered android territory, he felt differently.

He brought Sumo in with him, seeing as there weren’t any signs outside. They took well to him, like children, with big wondrous eyes. Most of them would’ve never seen a dog before, at least not one like Sumo; big and fluffy with slobbery jowls. The strays around Detroit were scrawny and skittish, with a deep sadness in their eyes that reflected the cause of their isolation. People hadn’t wanted dogs anymore, not with so much tech around, and not when they had a robot to call their pet. Hank hoped with the uprising of androids also came a small uprising of dogs, real dogs. They were an invaluable treasure.

It struck him that he didn’t know what to do now that he’d entered the place. There were seats to spare and if he navigated smartly enough he could sneak into the middle of room. But, truthfully, he hadn’t come with a plan, and he had no clue how Jericho ran itself. There were crowds everywhere, colourful blobs of androids of all different types, some in the corners of the rooms and some filling the lines at the front desks.

The front desks. That would be a good start. He waved away another android that had come to marvel at Sumo, shortening his leash and leading him to the back of the left line. He couldn’t see who was manning the desk from the distance, but it was safe to assume they were an android as well. In front of him was a woman and one of the child androids. He avoided staring. Sumo did not have the same grace.

“Ah!” The child yelped when Sumo bumped him. He had short black hair and big brown eyes, with a cute little button nose and thin lips. The woman, one of the household models, turned around and sheltered her child from the onslaught. Hank pulled at Sumo’s leash, reeling him in like a rowdy bull.

“Sorry about that. He won’t harm you; he’s a big softie.”

The kid was curious then, peeping out over the forearm of his caretaker. He jumped at every bounce Sumo made, only breaking from the hold once the dog had safely sat down. He looked back at the woman for permission before he approached.

Hank held Sumo tight, keeping his rump to the ground. He shared a look with the woman, a slight nod to affirm. The kid inched closer, small fingers offered. Sumo pressed the tip of his snout into them.

“I’ve never seen one of these before,” the kid said. “What is it?”

“A dog.”

Hank turned his head to the unexpected voice. Long, strawberry hair neatly tied back and a dominant stance, he was struck with the impression that she was someone important. The kid continued to pet Sumo, testing the boundaries of how much he could before he was dribbled on.

“I haven’t seen a human come here for quite a while,” she said. “What’s your name?”

“Hank Anderson,” he paused before adding, “Detroit police.”

Her eyes brightened. “Oh! You’re Connor’s partner.”

Hank wasn’t surprised. Connor didn’t skimp on details unless he felt he had to, and there wasn’t much to hide about their partnership. “And you are?”

“North.” She offered her hand. She had a strong grip, a commanding handshake. “I make sure everything’s running smoothly.” She glanced over his shoulder, then around the room, quirking a brow, “He’s not with you?”

Hank rubbed the back of his neck. “Ah, about that… have you seen him?”

“Not today.” The line moved up, the kid and his guardian leaving Sumo despite his whines, and North fell into position with Hank. “He doesn’t come here unless he has to. Or if he’s feeling sentimental, I guess.” Her eyes darted across the wrinkles of his face and her brows lowered. “What did he do?”

“There was an… incident.. and he disappeared, didn’t say a single thing.” Hank sighed. “I just think he’s doing something stupid.”

“Well, this would be the last place to look… I figured _you_ would know that.”

Hank scrunched his nose. What?

North gave a sad smile. “Why would he come here for comfort?”

The place was full of androids – they were supposed to his people! Sumo whimpered sympathetically at Hank’s side. He closed his eyes to think before speaking, “Can I talk to Markus?”

“Isn’t that why you’re in line?” North said. “To make an appointment with him.”

Ah. It was silly to think he could walk in and demand a meeting with the head of the department. Hank looked past the long line in front of him, the androids waiting on the seats and the ones walking to the elevators. He would be here for a while, longer than he imagined he had time for.

“Connor works with you,” he said. “Surely that’s gotta count for something.”

Annoyance played at North’s lips, and she stayed quiet, holding firm.

The line moved up again, a single meter difference. Hank cast pleading eyes onto her.

“Fine,” she said, dipping her head to the elevators. “Just once, alright?”

Just once.

**\--*--**

“You, my robotic friend, will make an _excellent_ addition for my newest client...”

Michael was rambling again, talking to the AX400 like it was listening to a single word he was saying. He had it sprawled across the cold steel of his examination table, stationed next to a daunting set of machinery. Programs ran a hundred miles per minute, and wiring connected to it from all sorts of crevices. The model’s LED wasn’t spinning; it was transparent as Michael weaselled through its mind. Yet, he still insisted on speaking to it, as if it were anything more than a collection of plastic, metal and wires.

The warehouse didn’t see a lot of activity during the daytime. Michael would work on whoever he’d caught in his webs that day, or whoever the scouts delivered to them.

He spared a glance for one of said scouts. It was stiff as a board against the far left wall, watching Michael for further instructions. Waiting for his permission to go out and net another tool for him to tinker with.

Michael acknowledged it once the memory reset was underway. “Good work, HR400. Your consistency always amazes me.”

With its success affirmed, it supplied a monotonous thanks before exiting through the two front doors. They were heavy and made a lot of noise, but the location of the warehouse made it a non-issue. Michael always mused about moving the company to an even more secluded place, perhaps out in the meadows where only the deer would find them, but would always finish the thought with, “Ah, but a dream for a more simpler man than I.”

“I’ve ought to find some work for you sometime, RK900. Such a fine model collecting dust in a place as big as this...” Michael tilted his head up and gestured broadly to the roof. “...It really is a shame, isn’t it? Ah well – you protect me well enough.”

RK900 had his vision locked onto the man as he approached and rubbed a thumb along his jawline. It could see its own reflection in his murky glasses. He murmured, “What a joy it would be to see you in action again.”

It had no pertinent views on the topic, but it did enjoy the feeling of warm skin. 

Michael pat it on the cheek before turning back to the examination table. “Of course, those delinquents at CyberLife kept you on the backburner all this time.” He grunted as unplugged some wires from the AX400’s body, supporting its back while its programs rebooted and it began to sit up. “This warehouse was such a waste before I found it.” He helped it to its feet, waved two fingers in front of its eyes to test its eye components, then said, “Come put it onto standby, my friend.”

_‘My friend.’_

It obeyed his command and joined him at the table, pressing its index finger to the AX400’s temple and lulling its systems into a freeze.

“Shh.”

Hmm?

“You hear that?”

Once the AX400 was stagnant, it engaged its audio enhancement. There was rustling coming from the roof of the warehouse, the ever so slight bang of metal against metal, crawling across the surface then slinking down the sides of the walls. “The vents,” it said. 

Michael walked to the grates of the floor vent and bent over it expectantly. They popped open, and out crawled a dishevelled looking WR400 in a dark cloak. Judging from the expression on its face alone, it was a deviant, one that had unknowingly entered a lion’s den. It backed away when coming to face Michael, but it had nowhere to go.

“Apprehend her,” barked Michael. RK900 surged forwards with the movements of a solider and wrapped its arms around the deviant, gagging its mouth with a firm hand before it could flee. It kicked and squirmed and whined like an injured animal, but it was far weaker than its captor: its struggles were in vain.

“Strip the cloak.”

Void of covering, it was revealed to still be wearing issued CyberLife uniform. Michael moved to the front of it and placed his hands on his hips. “I know that serial number – you’re my missing lady! Can you believe that, my friend? I thought we’d never get her out of that pathetic excuse for a house.” He brushed past them and ushered the AX400 away from the examination table, into a line of deactivated androids to the far right of the room. Though empty of thought, its legs moved automatically when pushed. “Place her on the table for me, please.”

It wasn’t an easy task. The WR400 was by no means a weak model, and it was a struggle to pin its arms down long enough to strap it to the table. It wiggled in its restraints and cursed into the air.

“Now, let’s see what they named you...” Michael adjusted his glasses and leaned in for a closer look at the breast of its shirt. “Betty?! Now, that doesn’t suit you at all! I knew that couple had a bad rap… why didn’t you warn me, RK900? You should’ve warned me. You know what happens if you don’t warn me.”

“I will warn you next time, sir,” RK900 said.

“Thank you, as always.” Michael beamed at him, then stroked down the cheek of the deviant, jerking it away when it attempted to bite. “Poor darling. We’ll fix you up in no time, my sweet. Maybe I’ll make you one of my scouts… this is the second home you’ve returned from, and I don’t believe that third time is the charm in this case.” He beckoned RK900 with a finger, “Come sedate her, please; she’s a fighter.”

“Bastard!”

Those were the only words it managed to spit out before its head lolled back and its eyes glazed over.

**\--*--**

He liked the silence at times like this. It was never cold and never warm, it was never too much and never too little, it was always a perfect balance of what he wanted it to be. Thirium, fresh and dried, dripping down his shoulder and staining the elegant fabrics of his suit, painting the false colour of his hands a light blue. It had bothered him before, perhaps, but… not now.

Footsteps. Quiet, then loud, coming up behind him.

“Fuck you.”

It was whispered, soft, drowning in the silence around him.

Connor was sat at the bench of Riverside Park, overlooking the water again, where the fish drifted through the currents and the breeze bounced along the waves. He came to think, like he had before, and in an almost satire twist of events Hank had sidled up behind him, standing to the left.

“Fuck. You.” It was louder that time, more aggressive.

Connor side-eyed him, managing a light scan. There was dog hair on his coat; he’d been with Sumo. Where was he now? He turned his waist to look, but the dog was nowhere to be seen.

“Where have you been?” Hank said.

Connor sighed, staring forwards. “I caught wind of the deviant. I chased them, but they managed to get away.”

It was the wrong answer. Hank blew heavily through his nose, feet shuffling against the pavement. “Sometimes I really wonder about you.” It was such a parental statement, like Connor was Cole, sitting with a scraped knee and sniffling into his sleeve, while Hank chastised him for making a mistake. At least, that’s how he imagined it would go… that’s how Amanda had acted. 

“Me too.” Connor smiled grimly.

The silence was now bitter and tainted, like Hank had walked up and spat a wad of venom into it. Or maybe Connor was the one who’d done it – he wasn’t sure. There were times he felt like he had a constant stream of toxic saliva.

“I thought you –” Hank inhaled sharply. He was upset. “I thought….”

Connor then turned to look at him wholly, and raised his eyebrows. “You thought what?”

“I thought you were gonna….”

Hank never finished his sentence. Maybe he couldn’t, or he didn’t want to. But the meaning held a weight that slammed against Connor’s chest in a way that made him feel hollow… perturbed… guilty…. ashamed. It was becoming easier to match his feelings to words. He reached into his pocket, a loud click filling the air and he extended his arm. “I’m sorry for taking your gun.”

Hank snatched it from his grip, losing the fervour halfway where his hand fell limp to his hip. “You could’ve told me,” he said. “Or Markus, or… someone.”

He knew that. He didn’t know why he hadn’t… well, he did – he wasn’t thinking. An echo of his past, Connor’s mind flipped a switch and engaged with nothing but his target, nothing but the predatory urge to hunt and capture. It was like all the experiences he’d shared with Hank, Markus, Simon, Sumo, everyone, they were wiped clean away by a bloodied cloth, wiping away the dampening on his coding and bringing out his primary goal: stop deviants.

“Do you have any idea how fucking selfish that was?” Hank continued, spitting out each word. Each syllable made Connor want to curl in on himself; his candidness had stoked the fire. “You don’t just take off like that, especially with a fucking gun. Do you know how that looks, Connor? Did that cross your mind at all?”

Connor cupped a hand over his wound. He didn’t want Hank to see, he didn’t want him to have that same expression he had when he’d walked in with hands stained blue. But the event had already repeated; he heard a ragged breath when Hank caught sight of the tinge along his fingers.

Crying wasn’t something he thought he’d ever experience. But when the final set of Hank’s words registered, and the rims of his eyes began to sting, he knew it was the closest he’d gotten to it for a long, long time. “Go home, Hank,” he said, because there was nothing left for him there, not for the rest of the night. He’d only be watching a phantom.

The footsteps crunched away, and he heard a car engine in the distance.

His head felt heavy, too heavy for itself, so he held it in his hands. Unfortunately, there were no bird songs during the night.


	7. Quiet Qualms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was once a boy.

Michael Abbott was once a boy.

A poor boy, in a poor home, with a poor mother and a poor life.

“We’re only poor because of your father, dear,” his mother would say, “If he hadn’t been tempted by the devil.”

She was a religious woman, you see. She believed in God and good faith, the need to love those around her and to stay away from anything that would bring harm to her family. In the blight of the red ice epidemic, her husband fell prey to its temptations. After a severe injury in his job as a construction worker, he was without income and without hope. Its red gleam lured him in like no other, inciting his anger.

She left when he landed the first hit on Michael, a small boy, about the age of twelve.

She took her boy and ran, ran as far as she could, until she came to the streets of Detroit. The slums were a better alternative than the flat palm of her once beloved. She weaselled into a job at a small, family-owned cafeteria nearby, and claimed a community house. She homeschooled her son, for a lack of money and a fear of the unfamiliar world were too great to overcome.

She instated one rule for her house: they’d never see a wink of the red devil again. 

Michael felt different about drugs. He believed that the Lord would wish him well on his endeavours if they were for a good cause – he sold weed at first, to make an honest profit where his mother could not. It started when he was fourteen, being offered by a friend, and pursued for years to come. Not a whisper nor word was ever spoken to his mother. His affairs were as private as could be.

Then, at the age of eighteen, he was tempted by the devil in a different kind of way.

His hands landed on a lick of red ice, and at the spring age of eighteen, his business found new heights. “I’d never use the stuff,” he would tell himself at night, “Then I’d never be able to hurt anyone.” Naive and tunnel-visioned, his business boomed on. Sneaking behind his mother’s back, dissuading her at every opportunity, hoarding his profits like a proud dragon.

Then, in the year 2018, his life was changed in a way he could never reverse.

**\--*--**

“Meet Chloe.”

Michael placed his phone on the windowsill and got out of his chair. He stared at his mother, then the thing, with a suspicious frown.

“It’s an android,” she said, pointing to the thing in question. Taller than her, shorter than him, with plaited blonde hair and big blue eyes. It stared lifelessly ahead. “I overheard my manager talking about these… opt-in trials, for small families. I wanted to tell you when I applied but… I thought it’d make for a nice surprise.” She smiled. “Go on, say its name. Chloe.”

Michael cleared his throat. “Uh… Chloe?”

Chloe’s unfocused eyes then honed onto him. “Yes, Michael?”

It was beyond creepy. “How does it know my name?”

“It’s registered for both of us.” His mother walked past to the kitchen area behind him, placing a shiny red purse onto the counter. “It’ll respond to any command you give it.”

Any command? Michael rubbed his chin. “Chloe, get me a glass of water.”

“Of course, Michael,” it smiled, and sprung to action. Swiftly locating the fridge and a cup, then letting the cool water pool into it. When it approached Michael, cup in hand, he was hesitant to touch it, should he accidentally brush against its fingers. He imagined it would feel cold, hard… like a machine.

“We only have it for a year,” his mother said. “Then it’ll be sent back to CyberLife so they can look over how it behaved.”

A year with a robot in the house. Michael supposed he could get used to that, if it were to follow orders. He could get away with missing a laundry day if he made the android do it instead.

“I expect you take good care of it, Michael. If it’s damaged in any way, I’ll have to pay for it, and you know I can’t afford that.”

“Yes, mother.”

That ruled out the possibility of using it with his clients. They could get rowdy, especially when enduring withdrawals, and he could see a hundred different ways they would take out their anger on a very human-looking machine. He smiled at Chloe, and it smiled back. It looked stiff and unnatural, but just human enough to be mildly convincing.

Such a small, trivial thing, but it piqued a curiosity that would last a lifetime.

When he wasn’t stealing the streets while his mother worked, he was in the house with Chloe. Making it clean, making it draw, making it write and making it dance with him. Plastic fingers intertwined with flesh, glassy eyes matching his. Michael felt a draw to it in a way he had never before, not a person, not to an animal, not to an object. But, to an android, there was a single red thread to pull them together.

It became a question of how far they could simulate a human. In the first few months, the dances were short and the drawings were small. His visits were brief before he left the house, returning before his mother finished her shift. Then, as time moved along, his visits were longer. He would prod it about drawings, trying to make it draw something new and original. He would try to teach it a dance it wouldn’t know, a unique way of the feet specific to only them.

Chloe would draw the same thing. Dance the same way. Smile the same length.

Michael eased his frustrations by choosing to view her limitations as potential. The first line of androids; he could only imagine how they would look in a decade’s time.

“They are to us like we are to God,” his mother said one night, when he held Chloe’s hand high in the air and danced across the living room. “Creations.”

That was true, wasn’t it? Androids were the creation of man. It only saw fit that man held the title of creator high.

“I’m going to work at CyberLife one day, mother,” he said. “I’ll create my own line of androids.”

She laughed softly. She didn’t believe him.

Then, the time came that Michael had to say goodbye to Chloe. It wasn’t a tearful farewell, but it was a melancholic one. He would likely never see the same Chloe again; once CyberLife perfected the model, they would have no need for the prototypes. He gave it a hug, his arms curled around its neck, and squeezed tight. It returned the hug in kind, and as it was escorted out of the home by two employees, he could’ve sworn he saw the circle on its temple flash gold.

The house felt lonely without it. His mother would leave for work, he would prepare the bags he kept under the floorboards, and he would head into the alleyways to perfect his trade. It never felt the same, despite only having a year of its presence, to open the front door and not be greeted with a monotonous but pleasant, “Hello, Michael.”

He would stick to his words, he decided.

**\--*--**

CyberLife held openings every year for new and aspiring recruits.

Since Chloe’s departure, Michael worked hard to gain money. His product quality was increased tenfold, and he would reach out to a wider variety of clients for his red ice. The demand became higher and his supply became bolder, keeping him busier and busier until he ran thin on alibis to give his mother whenever he was late for dinner. But, it became worth it.

When he was twenty years old, he applied to work for CyberLife.

He gathered enough money to sit comfortably on his funds and pay for the basic training. He counted the days on a calendar until their big annual presentation, when he would catch one of the workers and submit his resume to be reviewed. He saw Chloes there, but not the one he had met. Not the one that had tipped off his interest.

Months rolled by before he got a response in the mail.

It was a lovely morning. The sun shone hopeful rays through his bedroom window and as he clambered through the kitchen, through the living room and out the door to receive the mail, his confidence rose higher than the clouds when he saw the letter from CyberLife. He wanted to keep it closed forever, to savour the excitement and suspense it aroused, but the thought of starting in the coming week was more than enough to make him head inside the open it.

Michael, however, did not count on a variety of things. His family was an unknown: if a mistake where to befall them and their name erased, nobody would know when their remains were swept off the tiles. He had amassed a light criminal record from his younger days, when he wasn’t quite so careful and vandalism charges plagued him daily. He was homeschooled, out of college: no degree, no qualification at all.

He was but a starry-eyed boy that had yet to see the clouds.

He broke the seal and unfolded the neat, white paper. It read formally, stating his name and their business. Then, at the bottom:

_Due to criminal records and inadequate experience, we have decided to pursue other employees._

No apologies, no watered down excuses, only text plain as day to tell him of his incompetence. Michael was a crushed soul; to find out that all he had worked for, all he had risked had been blown away like a browning leaf with the breeze. It was a reality he didn’t want to face, knowing that he may never get a chance to meet another Chloe.

Following CyberLife’s rejection, a new kind came to light in the form of his mother.

The next week, she found out about his business. He had become sloppy with his fame, focusing more on how to get his products to his clients than how he was going to conceal his work from her. It was inevitable then, he realised, that she would find out. Her wrath burned hotter than anything he had yet faced in life.

He was kicked out of the house.

The streets that he had grown to know like the back of his hand became unfamiliar, haunting; dangerous. With no home to fall back on, no person to call on for support and no Chloe to meet his commands, Michael was truly alone in the world. CyberLife had inadvertently ruined his life, he would think to himself, they were the ones at fault for his misery.

Without a proper place to work, his business became far and scarce. Money drew tight and he found himself living on the streets for three whole years, wandering throughout Detroit like a sick dog without a purpose. He couldn’t sing, or paint, or dance like Chloe had: there was no way to get funds. He was helpless until the day he met Peter Killian.

The first line of androids had been officially introduced to households by the time Michael was twenty one. He stood outside the first CyberLife store, in the central area of Detroit, with a hand pressed flat against the glass. Looking at not-Chloe.

Then, a breath behind his ear.

“Wonderful, aren’t they?”

He was a man in a long, brown coat with a Western-themed hat. He stood out among the crowds like a fictional character, as if he’d stepped right out of the pages of a novel and into the breathing world.

“I – yeah, they are,” Michael said.

“I’m Peter,” the man said, offering a hand to shake with a winning smile. “Peter Killian. I’ve seen you ‘round ‘ere a lot. Thought it’d be polite to say hello.”

Michael felt humbled. He wasn’t sure what it was, but there was something about Peter. “I’m Michael. I ‘spose my last name doesn’t matter.”

“Why not?” Peter said. “A man’s name is important. It lets everyone know who you are. You build yourself up enough, and those two words can shake a state.” He turned his attention to the contents of the glass in front of them; to not-Chloe. “You like androids?”

“I do. I used to have one when I was younger.”

Peter whistled. “One of the trial runs, huh? You ever thought about working with ‘em?”

Michael looked at him with widened eyes. “Are you…?”

“I know about your little business,” Peter said and grinned a snake’s grin. “I’m offering you a job, Michael.”

Androids Underground.

That was what Peter called his little establishment. Michael came to learn he was employed by CyberLife once. He was involved with helping the first iterations pass the turing test. But, as time went on, he became frustrated with his wages and how much CyberLife took from them. He admired androids as a creation, but he wanted to _profit_ off of them. That was how his company came to be, and Michael was the first skipping stone across a lake of dubiety.

As the years went by, he became a right-hand man to Peter. They started with smuggling androids from the warehouses, to repairing androids out of the junkyard, all the way to stealing androids that happened to wander alone on the street. Michael learnt more about androids than he’d ever dreamed he could; their parts, their purposes, their very being.

Peter spoke of their end goal, the plan that would give them an edge. He knew of a private warehouse CyberLife owned. He knew where it was, what it contained. It was full of the models used for companies like the Eden Club, but beyond that were _special_ models.

“Prototypes,” Peter said. “Imagine what we could do with them, Michael. Just imagine.”

Life was perfect. They had a goal.

But as with every event in his life, it came to an end when CyberLife thrusted themselves into the fray. Peter’s quick hands couldn’t adapt quickly enough to the ever-changing security, and one botched mission led to the downfall of the organisation. He helped Michael, something he’d never come to understand; he erased his name from the records, he ushered him out. It was the last time he saw him in person. The only other time he got a glimpse of the man was on the news for his conviction.

Michael was free, but without purpose once more.

Until he met RK900.

**\--*--**

One month after the revolution’s success.

It had only taken one month for CyberLife to crumble under their own power.

Michael stood outside the warehouse.

With no one to report to, the security drones had been shut down. The doors were unlocked and the building was grim. It was a secluded location where construction had once failed to take place… nobody would find him here, would they? He walked on.

It was dusty inside, making him cough into his arm. Michael pulled the flashlight tucked to his belt buckle and flicked it on, illuminating the building’s contents. He could see androids. Dozens of them, all lined up on the sides, vacant stares and LEDS baring no essence of light. They were just waiting to be activated and used, waiting for someone like him to come and find them. Why hadn’t they been found already?

He studied them as he passed them by, checking for any hint of a reaction. None. As he neared the back of the building, he could see a curtain loosely draped at the back, clipped up to the roof to avoid any distinguishing shapes. He looked over his shoulder as if it were all a trick and someone would creep behind him, grab him by the shoulders and drag him to the same fate as Peter. But nobody came; it was only him, alone in the warehouse.

He was hesitant to remove the curtain. Why? He couldn’t tell. Perhaps it was not knowing what could be lurking behind.

It was… an android.

It was perfect.

And when he laid eyes on it, he felt the same feelings he had once felt for that Chloe. His Chloe.

A defined, built face with gently closed eyes. Delicate eyebrows curved ever so slightly inwards, conveying a sense of pensiveness rather than aggression. Its suit was a brilliant white with a black collar, fitting its figure and shining against the rays of his flashlight. Its face was robotic. Unassuming. Knowing only one thing: to serve its human, like Chloe once had.

He looked to its suit.

“RK900.”

No longer did white light fuel his vision, but instead a vibrant blue that bounced off the walls. Michael stepped back, and he locked eyes with the palest stare he’d ever seen. It was docile, with a hint of confusion, and an overwhelming sense of nothing.

“Hello,” it said, with a voice that felt a cold hug.

Michael tried not to shine his flashlight directly at it. “Hello.”

“Who are you?” It searched the room. “Where’s Amanda?”

“Amanda…?”

“I haven’t been informed of my mission.”

That’s when it became clear. The android had to be one of the prototypes; developed with a specific interest in mind, yet, that interest had long faded with the fall of CyberLife. It was left to its own devices. Only an empty warehouse to roam, like a ghost forbidden from passing on. Michael was its saving grace. Its opportunity for a reason to be.

“My name is Michael,” he said. “CyberLife has instructed me to work with you.”

It shook its head. It wore the shadow of naivety that Chloe had when he asked her to paint. “No… No, Amanda would have told me.”

He gnawed at his cheek, then straightened his posture. “There’s… an issue at CyberLife. To keep you secured, they’ve sent you here, and I’m to watch over you.”

“What issue?”

It asked far too many questions. That was not like Chloe.

“Deviants. Deviants...” He thought back to Peter. Yes, that was it. “…androids that are going against their programming. There’s a surge of them, and we can’t risk you being compromised until we’re certain we can combat it. In the meantime...” Back to the androids, lined at the walls. An opportunity to experiment. “...I’ve been asked to examine the androids here.”

If it wasn’t convinced, it didn’t voice it. “Will you be needing to experiment on me?”

“No. Not yet, anyways.” There was always a chance for later.

It gave the warehouse a once over again, then looked back to him. It smiled.

“Okay, Michael.”

**\--*--**

**MAY 11, 2039**

Suffocation.

He wasn’t designed to feel it. He didn’t even need to breathe. Yet, among the thick mud and metal, he was desperate for clean air. It was oozing into his systems, burning his throat and poisoning his regulator. Oh, how he longed to see light once more. It was tiring to open his eyes each day (was it each day? He couldn’t tell the time anymore) and see darkness.

Nothing.

He’d close his eyes.

He’d open them.

Nothing.

He’d close his eyes.

He’d open them.

Nothing.

For how many months, he wondered. Years? Minutes? Decades? Seconds? Time was as disjointed as his legs. If he had room to move, he could pop them back in… he could walk again. But he couldn’t even see them, no. He couldn’t see anything.

Nothing.

Then, one month, one year, one minute, one decade, one second, he decided he’d had enough.

He scraped his fingers through the mud and the metal, he wiggled his torso free from its filthy grasp, he dug and he dug and he dug until he felt the cool air grace the tips of his fingers. Then, he saw Something.

The world. The thick air and the dreary colours of the junkyard, but nonetheless, it was _the world._

And just like that, the mud inside him yielded nothing to the rage that was stoked like a hot, volatile wildfire.


	8. Author's Note

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An update.

Hello!

Thank you to everyone who has enjoyed the story so far. It means so much to me that people like my little stories!

Unfortunately, as for You're Not Strange, I have developed the story in a way that I feel will not hold up at this point in time. The concept has changed dramatically, and I am happy with the concept I have now, but this story is much too messy to properly execute it. What does this mean?

Well, a rewrite, obviously! I'm not ready to give up what I've created, but I would like to put my all into putting up a story that I'm happy with.

The original version will remain up until I have organised and am ready to upload the rewrite, so don't worry if you're the type to re-read things. The chapters will still be up for you to view at your discretion.

Once again, thank you very much for all the feedback! I hope you enjoy the rewrite should you still be interested when it pops up. :)


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